Odalisque
by Digital Tempest
Summary: AU Movieverse. You get a lot of time to think when you're handcuffed to a bed, and right now, Ororo was thinking about how she ended up in this predicament.
1. Odalisque I: The Odalisque

**Title:** Odalisque

**Author:** Tempest

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters recognizable from "X-Men" or any of its affiliated comics, movies, etc, and I guess that should go without saying that I don't own the comics, movies, so forth and so on either. Marvel™ et al own everything. I make no money off these works; I do this simply as a means of entertainment. No copyright infringement intended. In other words, please, don't sue the broke college student.

**Foreword:** Excuse the mistakes. I have no beta reader. :( If you're reading this on ffnetI don't know how far this will got cause I don't know how risqué this is going to get yet. We'll see… Enjoy!

**_Chapter One  
The Odalisque_**

You get a lot of time to think when you're handcuffed to a bed, and right now, Ororo was thinking about how she ended up in this predicament. Not just handcuffed to the bed, but the state of things in general. She knew exactly how she had ended up handcuffed to the bed.

An hour earlier, Ororo had been sitting in her bed; the one that she always complained was too high; the one that made her feel like she was freefalling when she tried to get out of it. She promised herself a thousand times that she would get rid of that bed. She didn't need such a large bed when it was just her in the house. Hell, she didn't need that house for the same reason.

That house was meant for children; that house wasn't meant for single, children-less divorcees. She should sell the house and get her an apartment somewhere. Maybe, she would even leave the city, the state, the country. Her mood lightened considerably as she thought about moving to France or Spain. She could become a flamenco dancer. She could see herself dancing in one of those gaudy, low cut flamenco dresses, the frills of the dress shaking as she threw herself into dance, her hair pulled back in a bun, exotic flowers adoring her hair.

"Olé!" She called into the empty room, throwing her head back, positioning one arm over her head and one across her belly. Yes, she would make a great flamenco dancer.

She could fall in love with a Spanish man, a dancing partner maybe. Someone who made her feel as if they were making love when their bodies moved together on the dance floor. Someone who would whisper in her ear in Spanish and tell her everything would be okay, even if it wouldn't. They could laze around feeding each other grapes or olives or whatever it was they grew in Spain. They wouldn't have to tell each other they loved one another; they would know in their hearts. They wouldn't have to get married. She'd already been there and done that. She just wanted companionship.

The more she thought about the idea of moving to Spain, the better it sounded. She could call the real estate agent tomorrow; she could hold a yard sale and sell everything in the house. She would take the clothes on her back and the money in her pocket with her to Spain. She wouldn't tell anyone she was leaving. She would just leave, forget this old life, and start a new one. She would… Ororo's thoughts were abruptly interrupted when she thought she heard a door open and close downstairs.

_Ridiculous_, she scoffed to herself. _The only other person that had a key to this house is gone_. Gone. The word had never had such an air of finality to it until she had gotten divorced.

She turned the television off and tilted her head toward the door. She thought she heard the shuffle of feet on the first floor, and she quickly turned off the lamp. She scooted across her bed, sliding silently to the floor, pressing her stomach against the soft carpet. She heard the noise again, and this time she was certain that someone was moving about in her house. Her breath shortened at the thought of someone else being in her house. She knew who it was, though; he told her he would come for her.

He didn't want anything in the house; he just wanted her.

She took a couple of deep breaths in an effort to steady her shaky breathing. She heard footsteps on the stairs. He was coming up! She pushed herself under the bed, her chest contracting tightly causing her breathing to quicken even more. She didn't like having to hide under the bed. For once, she thanked the Goddess that she had a bed that sat so high off the floor, but still the thought of being under the bed in such a confined space made her feel smothered. She didn't like that feeling, just as she didn't like the feeling of being hunted.

Her breathing sounded abnormally loud in her ears, and she would've sworn that it echoed throughout the house. As if confirming her fears about her breathing, he entered the room, a throaty chuckle escaping from his throat. She heard the adjoining bathroom door open. Next, she heard the closet door open. She tried to hold her breath as she watched the bottom of his shoes pass her bed. He paused for a moment, and she feared that he would look under the bed and find her, but he didn't. He exited the room, and she heard footsteps on the stairs, again. He was going back down.

She slid across the carpeted floor, peering from under the bed, expecting to see a leering face even though she had heard him go back downstairs. Relieved, she slid from under the bed, crawling across the floor. She could no longer hear him moving around in the house. Was he gone? Or was he waiting for her to make some fatal mistake? He could be hiding in her own house. An elaborate game of cat and mouse. He was baiting her, and it would only be a matter of time before…

She crawled to the nightstand, groping vainly for something that wasn't there. He'd taken the phone. The sneaky bastard. She could imagine him gripping her cordless phone smugly while she began to panic. She knew one thing. She couldn't stay in the bedroom. How long would it be before he realized that he hadn't checked under the bed? She could lock herself in the bathroom. But he was a crafty man; it wouldn't take him long to get inside.

She contemplated trying to make a break for it. She could run down the stairs, swerve into the kitchen, and out the kitchen door. Would he have time to catch her? Of course, he would. He would hear her thundering down the staircase. He would catch her at the bottom of the stairs, and even if she did manage to elude him and make it to the kitchen, she would still have to fumble with the lock on the kitchen door. A weapon. She needed a weapon. With a weapon, she could make that much needed break to the kitchen.

She crawled to the closet, feeling around blindly. Her hand wrapped around something hard and distinctly wooden. She pulled it from the closet, kissing it as if it were her savior. A bat. She crawled out the door, taking care to keep her body close to the wall while she held the bat securely. Cigar smoke wafted on the air. He was downstairs smoking, biding time. She could almost see the end of the cigar glittering in the dark room while he furrowed his eyebrows.

She caressed the bat again and stood slowly, feeling a renewed confidence in herself. She broadened her shoulders, raising her chest in premature triumph. She felt powerful with the bat in her hands. What chance did he stand against her, now? Yet, she still crept along the wall until she was in front of the staircase. Closing her eyes, submitting silent supplication for a safe escape, she stood looked down the stairs to freedom.

She ran down the steps, and he cut her off at the edge of the steps just as she expected. The hunter and the hunted coming face to face. She raised the bat, preparing to strike him with everything in her being, but he struck before she could, wrestling her to the ground, throwing the bat to some shadowy corner. He did all this without a word. He was holding her down, now. One hand restraining her hands above her head, one hand cupping one of her breasts, roughly, roughly enough to make her protest.

They struggled for a moment. She tired herself while he seemed to take pleasure in watching his prey squirm. His free hand was now bunching her gown up around her waist. She jumped when she felt cool fingers touch her inner thigh. Higher and higher they climbed like creeping vines up her thigh. A lump formed in her throat as she bucked under him. She had to think. She relaxed for a moment, willing herself to ignore the curious fingers. She believed that there was always a solution to a problem, an escape when none seemed possible.

She planted her feet firmly against the floor, raising her hips. His weight shifted, allowing her to have the momentum. She turned her body, and he fell off her. She rolled away from him and stood up quickly. He was already standing, facing her. They eyed each other like a couple of bar brawlers waiting to see who was going to make the first decisive move. She backed away from him until her heel hit the back of the stairs. She turned abruptly and started to run up them. She nearly fell backwards when she felt the tail of her nightgown being tugged.

Without looking, she kicked back. "Shit!" She heard him curse when her foot made contact with what she didn't know, but he held tightly to the gown. She pulled the gown straps away from body, feeling the gown slide away from her body. She heard him make a noise akin to surprise, and then she heard him sliding back down the steps. She ran up the stairs, running in one of the guest bedrooms. She closed the door and locked it. She knew a locked door didn't mean a whole hell of a lot to him.

"Don't make me chase you," he called out in the hallway. His first real words other than the uttered profanity.

She rummaged through the drawers, finding an old shirt, sliding it over her partially naked frame. She licked her lips thinking of another escape route. She could hear him jiggling the doorknob. She looked around the room. She could surprise him when he opened the door. The attic. If she could make it to the attic, she could… The door swung open and he stood blocking her way.

She moved across the bedroom, making a quick dash for the guest bathroom that connected it to another room. She tried to slam and lock it behind her, but he was already yanking on the door. She skittered across the floor and out the door that led to the other guest bedroom. She opened the door of the guest room, running out the door. She turned in the hallway back toward the staircase. Her mind reeled. She could run down the stairs and to the kitchen, or she could run to the opposite end of the hallway, to the library and escape to the attic.

She didn't get a chance to make her final decision, as he appeared in front of her. He circled around and cut her off at the path. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing at all. It reminded her of something she heard someone sing before. _Watch me; I'm weightless. Though, I'm on the ground._ She beat against his back. He'd probably taken worse beatings than that. She was sure he had. He carried her to her bedroom were the only exit was the way they came in. He deposited her on the bed.

The keen clack of metal against metal made her grind her molars. She hated that sound. Then, she found herself restrained. She didn't really know how it happened because it happened so fast. One minute she was wincing at the sound of metal connecting, and then she couldn't move. Two sets of handcuffs, one for each arm enslaved her to the bed, and she didn't even know how it really happened.

Now, those handcuffs were clawing into her wrists. Her arms spaced equidistance from each other on the wrought iron bed that had too many posts for its own good. He would've never had a chance of handcuffing both hands to the bed if she had a normal bed instead of the Gothic style monster that looked like it belonged in medieval England. She chewed on her bottom lip lightly, groaning as she sat struggled to sit up in the bed.

When she left for Spain, she was going to have a bed that no one could chain her to. Better yet, she wasn't going to have liaisons with men who treated her like a high priced _courtesan_.

She stopped moving in the bed and tried to scan the dark room with her eyes. The room was an austere obscurity, save for the slither of moonlight that peeked through a crack in the curtains. The moonbeams danced across her naked thighs, caressing her brown skin with their silver kisses. Loose tendrils of hair fell into her face as she shifted again on the bed. Other than that, she saw nothing. There was no sign that anyone other than herself inhabited that room.

Across the room, she could hear Janet's voice flowing from the radio. "_That's the way love goes…_" What did Janet know, anyway? Janet wasn't the one chained to a bed, wondering if she would ever get out of those cuffs. Everything wasn't about love. Some things were more visceral, more animalistic, than love. She strained to hear over Janet's decree of "the way love goes", hoping to hear some indicator that he was still in the nearby, at least, but there was none.

He'd walked out of the room after cuffing her to the bed. She wasn't sure why. She hadn't heard him move around in the house, but she knew that he could be as quiet as a church mouse when he wanted to be. She would've never known he was in the house unless he had wanted her to, and he had wanted her to know that he was there. He could've just as easily snuck up on her, but he enjoyed the chase… the game. That's all it was to him – a game. He was the hunter and she was his prey. He never tired of it.

The handcuffs were something new, and she wasn't entirely sure she liked it. She wasn't entirely sure she even liked playing that game anymore. It was becoming too personal. She knew she didn't mean much to him, but she thought she was starting to care for him. How could she care for him? It was obvious that he didn't value her for anything other than sex. She could hardly get him to say two words to her when they weren't fucking each other's brains out. Hell, she could barely get him to say two words then.

They had mind-blowing sex, she fell asleep (depending on where they were), and when she woke, he was long gone. Sometimes, she chose to believe that these sessions, as she liked to think of them, were nothing more than a dream. However, those handcuffs were a concrete reminder that they were more than just a dream, and now she thought she was falling in love with the bastard. She didn't want to fall in love with him. If she fell in love, she knew that she would never leave. If she fell in love, she would pretend to be happy with the way things were when she really wasn't.

She didn't want to be treated like someone's whore. She wanted to find a life and a love of her own. Divorces tend to make people cynical, but she still believed in the power of love. She just didn't want that "power" to center around Logan. She wanted someone who would make love to her mind as well as her body. Besides, she couldn't exactly call what she and Logan did "making love", and it certainly wasn't intellectually stimulating unless you counted the time she spent regretting it and thinking about the way things were – such as now.

It was funny. She never thought of him by his name. She thought of him as _Him_ or _He_ most time. When they were at work, she had a habit of saying, "Go ask _Him_," or "_He_ said such and such." Most times, people knew who she was talking about, but sometimes, she would have to specify. Then, she would loathingly say his name. It came off like a quick staccato snap on her tongue.

When she talked to him, she tried to avoid using his name. She would just look in his general direction and hoped he realized she was talking to him. The only time she ever called his name (or at least, the only time she tried to call his name; sometimes, calling him was unavoidable) was when she really needed his attention or when they were… No, she wouldn't think about that. Now was not the time to let her thoughts wander to sex. So, she thought about the handcuffs instead and how she was supposed to get out of them.

She wouldn't panic; he wouldn't leave her handcuffed to the bed all night. At least, she didn't believe he would. Would he? She never really knew what to expect when dealing with him. She opened her mouth to say something to speak into the dark at him, whether he heard her or not. Then, she thought better of it. She rested her head against the headboard and closed her eyes.

_Spain, flamenco dancing, idle afternoons in Barcelona,_ she chanted to herself. This was her new mantra. Something to remind her that things would get better, that there was something out there for her. She heard approaching footsteps, and her emotions went into a war, loathing and loving what was about to happen.

"Bright lady, please send me a sign…" She mumbled under her breath as he approached the bed. She needed to know that this was the right thing she was doing, that her newfound dreams of leaving should be actively pursued. And she needed that sign soon…

**Author's Notes:** I wanted to thank Darlin for all her nice reviews at the Realm, and everyone who emailed me about my stories. I really appreciate it, and I am going to repost them. Thanks for all your support.


	2. The Sign

**_Chapter Two  
The Sign_**  
  
            Ororo looked around the empty storeroom, then down at her sleeve-covered, bruised wrists. They were tender to the touch, but she would carry on tonight as if nothing was wrong because _nothing was wrong_. She stepped on up the stepladder carefully, reaching for a box on one of the higher shelves. The flowing sleeves of her shirt slid away from her wrists, revealing the purplish bruises.   
  
            "Ororo, what happened to your wrists?"   
  
            Ororo cursed silently and tried to pull the sleeves back over her wrists, but it was too late. Someone had already noticed, and that someone was a person she considered close to her. She turned her head slowly to look at Jean. Jean was always too perceptive, but then again, they were friends. And if the roles were reversed, she would've been the one asking Jean what happened.  
  
            "I…" Ororo trailed off. She couldn't think of a suitable lie. What do you say about two nearly identical bruises on your wrists? They looked like bracelets branded in skin. "It's no big deal."  
  
            "No big deal? Ororo–" Jean started, her eyes darkening, and Ororo cut her off with a wave of her hand.  
  
            "Jean, it's no big deal. Trust me." Ororo said. She gave Jean a reassuring smile before reaching for a box on top of a shelf. She reached inside the box and pulled out two bottles. Ororo bumped Jean's shoulder playfully with her own when she walked by her. "Don't worry about me."  
  
            Jean always worried about her, lately. It was futile to tell Jean not to worry because she would do it regardless. She placed the fresh bottles vodka on the shelves. The crowd was really drinking down the vodka tonight. That was her second time going into the storeroom to get more vodka. She had made everything from A-Bombs to Zipper Heads, been through more vodka than should be allowed, and the night wasn't even halfway over. She was going to need more soon.   
  
            When she turned from the shelf, she found herself staring into a man's chest. "Oh, hello Victor." She said to the chest. Then, she looked up to his face. He didn't look happy. He hardly ever looked happy. He walked around with a perpetual scowl on his face. Victor's job basically consisted of him shaking people around like a rag doll, so whatever it was that made him scowl was taken out on some clubbers. He said it was a perk of being not only a bouncer but the head of club security.  
  
            "Hey Ororo." He said. Victor was one of those people who seemed to need his own space, but he didn't totally baffle her. Sometimes, they would talk. He wasn't the most eloquent man, but he could be good company. He even had sense of crude sense of humor that made Ororo chuckle and roll her eyes at the same time.  
  
            She remembered one time a sleazy guy was bothering her, just a couple of weeks after she started working there, and Victor "shook the shit" out of him (those were his words not hers) and told the bastard if he ever came back he would "fuck start his head" (again, his words not hers). After that, a friendship—at least, she thought that's what it was—was founded.  
  
            "How 'bout you whip me up one of those Cointreau Tonics or one of those Cointreau Clips. I could really use one of those. Thanks, babe." He patted her cheek as if she were actually going to make him a drink.  
  
            She grabbed a glass and filled it with Sprite, and then handed it to him. He looked at the soda, then back at her as if she had gone mad. "You're not supposed to be drinking on the job, Vic." Ororo chided.  
  
            "I won't tell if you won't tell." He said. Ororo shook her head. "You could at least give me somethin' stronger than Sprite. How 'bout a Z Street Slammer?"

            "No."  
  
            "A Long Island Ice Tea."  
  
            "No."  
  
            "A wine cooler?"  
  
            "No."  
  
            "Not even a damn wine cooler? That's fucked up, Ororo." He joked.  
  
            "Catch me after closing. I'll slip you a bottle of gin. Jean won't miss it."   
  
            "Why don't you go do your fuckin' job, Creed?" Logan said, as he squeezed by them. He didn't acknowledge her; she tried to act as if she didn't care. Under his breath, Ororo heard him mutter, "Asshole." She was sure that was directed at Victor. It was no secret that Logan and Victor didn't particularly like one another. Ororo wasn't sure why. When she started working at the club, their hatred for each other had been long established.   
  
            "You wanna say that a little louder?" Victor said, turning to follow Logan, but Ororo grabbed his arm. He turned back to her. "One of these days, I'm goin' to slam him _through_ a wall."  
  
            As big as Victor was, Ororo believed that, but she thought it would take a little more than slamming Logan through a wall to keep him down. "Just don't do it on my shift, okay?" She said.   
  
            "Unless you hang around dark alleys, you ain't gonna see what I'm gonna do to him. I got to get back to the door, though. Don't forget me." Victor said.   
  
            He gave her a brotherly pat to the head and wandered off, leaving Ororo alone. Logan walked pass again, and he didn't even look at her. She felt like grabbing his shoulders, shaking him, and screaming, "Can't you see me?" She knew she would never do that, though. She would never work up that kind of courage. She didn't expect declarations of love from him, but she did want to be acknowledged.   
  
            Ororo leaned against the bar, propping her elbow on the counter, resting her chin on her hand. She ignored the dull throbbing in her wrist as she watched the dancers move to the beat, gyrating their bodies against one another, working as one hedonistic multitude. She couldn't resist tapping her foot in time to the pulsating bass and the driven rhythms. Her lips moved silently with the words of the song. She let herself slip into thought as the throbbing music continued to thump.   
  
            She'd been working at The Phoenix a little over three months. The Phoenix was Jean's brainchild. Jean opened the club and bar with help of her husband, Scott. Scott didn't spend much time at the club despite being the co-owner. He spent most of his time at the law firm he worked at. Ororo didn't think he would spend much time in the club even if he wasn't working at the firm. So, the club was Jean's to control.   
  
            Ororo started working at the club after Jean told her that she couldn't mope around the house forever. She'd still been reeling from her divorce. Jean said she knew Ororo didn't need the money because she had gotten alimony and the house out of the divorce settlement, but it would give Ororo something to do. Jean was right. If her ex could move on, then why couldn't she?  
  
            So, she started working at The Phoenix, and it was there that she met Logan. She couldn't help casting a small glance his way. He was further down the bar serving drinks to two women. She turned away when she saw one of the women laugh loudly and put a flirtatious hand on Logan's arm. She swallowed hard and fought the impending jealousy. Sometimes, she wished they had never gotten involved – if involved was what you wanted to call it, but a bigger part of her didn't regret it.  
  
            When they got involved, she had been working at the club about a month. She hadn't really talked to him much at that point. She thought he was good looking; she would stare at him sometime when she thought he wasn't looking. Like Victor, he seemed like the type of person who wanted his space. Unlike Victor, he did baffle her. They said a handful of words to each other. Nothing much more than your usual "hello" and "goodbye" fare. She was under the assumption that he didn't like her very much, and she wasn't really sure why.   
  
            Then, they had to open the club together because Jean was out of town. It was before Victor or Mort or anyone else had shown up. They argued over something silly. She believed it had something to do with a bottle of Bacardi Limón and the recipe for a Limón Cosmo. She just remembered being really angry at him, so she went to the storeroom and sat on a crate just to get away from him and compose herself. She was there a couple of minutes before he entered, and she gave him the best glare she could muster.   
  
            She stood up slowly, her arms already crossed, ready to give him a piece of her mind. She didn't remember saying anything as he walked toward her purposely. She opened her mouth to say something, but her words caught in her throat when kissed her unexpectedly. She pushed him away from her, looking into his eyes with question. She didn't find any answers in them. Instead, a burning lust emanating from them assaulted her.   
  
            She shook her head, backing away from him, nearly tripping over a box. He moved with her, and she felt her back pressing against the cool wall. He planted his hands on either side of her shoulders effectively pinning her to the wall. "What are you doing, Logan?" She asked as his mouth explored the soft flesh of her throat. Her body betrayed her, arching toward him, asking for more.  
  
            "I'm only doin' what we both want," he said into her neck, and she shivered in response. She hadn't asked for that. She didn't want that. At least, she didn't think she wanted it. It was hard to think with his hands under her shirt massaging her breasts and his lips on her collarbone.   
  
            He lifted his head and their lips met in a searing kiss as he pulled her closer, as if willing their bodies to merge, her tongue boldly exploring his mouth. Their tongues battled it out, but she eventually won, running playful circles around his tongue. There was nothing chaste about that kiss; it was full of raw sexuality. She nibbled on his bottom lip lightly, eliciting a groan from him. She was dimly aware of her shirt being ripped away from her body. It didn't matter as long as he kept touching her. Damn emotions were clouding her mind, making it hard to act rational.   
  
            No words were spoken as he his hands run up her leg, pushing the skirt up. She felt him tug at her underwear, and they gave way with a harsh tug. She tried to focus, but all she could think about was the delicious feel of hot hands on her thighs, an erotic catalyst. She couldn't think; things were moving too fast. She couldn't protest… couldn't do anything, but lose control.   
  
            She helped him pull his shirt over his hand. She kissed his chest, running her hands across clenched abs, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. They dropped to the ground. Intuitively, her legs wrapped around his waist. He entered her with one solid motion, and she bucked against him. His lips covered her own, again. His kisses devouring the moans that threatened to escape. His strokes were long and steady in spite of her constant rearing. The only sounds filling the storeroom were her muffled cries, his quick breathing, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh.   
  
            Ororo gripped Logan's shoulders tightly, her nails sinking into the soft flesh. He pounded into her harder, harder, and harder still. She buried her face in his neck feeling the reckless abandon. Her legs tightened around his waist when her orgasm hit her. She cried out as she rode it out. He came after her, slamming an open palm against the wall. He lowered her to the floor. Her knees trembled, and she feared they would give under her.   
  
            She didn't even know what to say after that, so she didn't say anything. She collected herself, left the storeroom, and made a beeline for the restrooms. She made a promise to herself that that would never happen again. Too bad she wasn't good at keeping promises to herself.   
  
            She heard someone clear their throat and she snapped out of her thoughts. "Sorry about that. What can I get you?" She mumbled, standing up straight and looking at the man.   
  
            "A bottled water, please." His words lilted and rolled over his words with a prominent accent. The hopeful side wanted to say it was Spanish; the realist in her told her she was being starry-eyed. She nodded her head and gave him a bottled water. She took his money, counted out the appropriate change, and resumed her earlier position of leaning on the bar.   
  
            She was aware of the man watching her because she was watching him, discreetly, from the corner of her eye. The first word that came to mind about him was pretty in a sort of androgynous way.  
  
            He was tall, rather waif-like. Black hair fell in silken waves to his shoulders. It glowed around his face like a dark halo. It was the kind of hair that screamed to be touched, the kind of hair that would feel like satin beneath the fingers. Long lashes fanned over green eyes so clear you'd swear you were looking at the ocean surrounding an exotic island. He seemed very innocent in manner, angelic even, but something in his manner gave away a hint of devilment.   
  
            "You seem a little sad," the man said, and Ororo turned to face him, unhurriedly, as if seeing him for the first time. He didn't know how sad she was. She tried to brighten a bit. If he—a complete stranger—noticed that she was sad, did that mean everyone noticed? She hoped not. She liked to pretend that she was doing a good job of holding everything in.  
  
            "I just have some things on my mind." She said. That was the truth. Her mind was a million different places at that moment, and all those thoughts centered on one person.   
  
            "Beautiful women should not have to worry about anything." He answered, taking a sip of his water. He was looking her too intently. It was like he was trying to figure her out.   
  
            "What do you think of the club?" Ororo asked, trying to move the conversation away from her.  
  
            "This is a nice club. One of the best I've visited in this city, but of course, the clubs here are nothing like the ones at home. Then again, there's no place like home, no?" He said.  
  
            "And where is home?"  
  
            "España," he laughed and made extravagant motions with his hands. Ororo held back a gasp. Was this her sign she had begged for the night before? "I mean Spain. Sorry, I tend to slip into my native tongue."   
  
            "No, no, don't be sorry. I knew what you meant. What part of Spain are you from?" She asked. She tried to pretend that she was only vaguely interested, but her heart was thumping wildly in anticipation of his answer.   
  
            "Barcelona." He said, casually.   
  
            Her heart seemed to do a back flip. This, _he_, was her sign. She knew it. "Is it beautiful?" She asked a little more abruptly than she intended, her voice nearly a whisper.  
  
            He leaned close to her, his lips virtually touching her ear, and said, "It is the most beautiful place in the world." He pulled away from her and gave her a wink.   
  
            "So, you're visiting?" She realized that she sounded a little nosy, and maybe, she was being just a little nosy.   
  
            "I'm living here temporarily. I'm a painter, and I dabble a little in photography. You should come by my studio sometime. I could immortalize your beauty in a photograph or better yet a painting."  
  
            Her face warmed. "You're just being nice."  
  
            "No, you truly are beautiful. I can already imagine the setup in my mind. You looked rather sad earlier, almost as if you were pining for a lost lover. You could be wrapped demurely, yet provocatively, in a white sheet, looking out the window with that same pained look. What do you think?"  
  
            He seemed so excited about the idea that she found herself overwhelmed by his enthusiasm. "I'm sorry. I don't even know you. I'm not saying I don't trust you or anything, but better safe than sorry." She was afraid that might sound offensive.  
  
            He only laughed in that careless way he had about him. Obviously, he wasn't offended, and if he was, he was good as masking it. "How would you like to stop by one of my classes? I teach life drawing at night at a local college." He rattled off an address and a time, and she committed it to memory.  
  
            "I don't know…"  
  
            "It'll be fun. Wear something old," he said. "We're working with charcoal." Before she could answer, he stood quickly and walked away from the bar. He turned briefly to wave at her and disappeared into the crowd. She didn't even know his name.  
  
            "Looks like you have an admirer." She heard Jean say behind her.  
  
            Ororo turned to face Jean who was trying to hide an amused smile. "Some admirer. He didn't even leave a name," she shot back.  
  
            "His name is Joaquín Allende." Jean said with a shrug.  
  
            "How do you know that?" Ororo said, suspiciously. She hoped he wasn't some guy that Jean was trying to set her up with. Jean had tried, unsuccessfully, to set her up with men in the past.   
  
            "Remember that gallery showing I went to with Scott a couple of weeks back?" Jean asked. Ororo nodded; she remembered. Jean had said something about Scott being invited by one of his bigwig friends to attend a prestigious gallery showing. Jean called Ororo that same night and told her how boring most of the night was. "He was one of the artists at the showing."  
  
            "Oh yeah?" Ororo tried to feign disinterest.   
  
            "Yeah, he was one of the more colorful personalities there. Those other artists were all stuffy and bigheaded, talking about all the money they made and why their art was so meaningful." Jean was mimicking an aristocratic accent. "But Joaquín was really nice. He didn't talk about how great his work is. He talked about how he volunteered at the college at night. How he enjoyed working with children. That sort of stuff. And his stuff is really good. Are you going to let him photograph you, paint your picture, whatever it is he wants to do?" Jean asked.   
  
            Jean must have been standing behind her an awful long time to hear all that. "Jean, how long had you been eavesdropping?" Ororo asked, narrowing her eyes a little.   
  
            "Long enough. So, are you?" Jean smirked.  
  
            "I don't know. I have to think about it." Ororo answered.   
  
            "I think you should." Jean said.   
  
            Mortimer ambled up to the bar. "Hey boss. There's some guy outside. Says he's with the some safety something or other. He said something about the club being filled to capacity and being a fire hazard. I don't know. The bloody bastard was just rambling at me."  
  
            Jean's faced pale. "Excuse me, Ororo. I have to go handle this." She followed Mortimer to the entrance of the club.   
  
            Ororo debated to herself whether she should go to Joaquín's class. He probably was only being nice, and she would feel foolish if she went and he didn't even remember her. She looked out toward the dance floor. She actually spotted Joaquín dancing in the thick of the crowd. He was dancing with an attractive blonde, but yet he still looked so detached from the crowd. As if he could feel her eyes, he looked her way. Ororo looked away quickly and over to Logan's side of the bar. He was looking at her. She couldn't really read his expression. She didn't care to. It was the first time that night he'd caught her eye.   
  
            She broke the gaze first. She'd broken it because he made her beg. The embarrassment of remembering that he demand that she beg for him to make love to her—no, to fuck her—the night before made her break eye contact. She had been restrained, unable to fight his probing hands, unable to shield herself from him, and he enjoyed every minute of it. And when he had teased her until she was lost in a sea of lust, he made her beg for it. How she hated him at that moment, but she begged.  
  
            When she was finally sedated, she wanted to stop breathing. He didn't take the handcuffs off immediately, and she wouldn't look at him. She didn't say anything, and he didn't say anything. She looked at that small slice or moonlight that slipped through the curtains, and she cried softly. Eventually, she fell asleep in that awkward position, her face still wet with tears. When she woke to sound of her alarm, she was alone, and she was no longer chained to her bed. Now, she couldn't even hold his gaze. She'd been waiting for that moment all night, and she couldn't even hold his damn gaze.   
  
            Something wasn't right about the whole sordid affair. It was sick and sadistic. It made her hate herself, yet somewhere deep inside she wanted it. He humiliated her, made her feel less than a woman at times, and she _still_ wanted it. Something had to change. She looked over at him again for good measure, and she didn't like what she thought she saw flicker in his eyes. 


	3. The Captive

**_Chapter Three  
The Captive_**  
  
He laughed; she cried.   
  
Ororo sat on the edge of the bed, her gown already a white puddle at her feet. She wondered if she touched a toe to the fabric would it ripple out like a pebble hitting the water. Without thinking, she crossed her arms over her naked breasts, trying to shield her nakedness from him. Hands roughened with calluses touched her smooth skin, loosening her arms, pulling them away from her body. "I already seen what you got. Why you tryin' to hide it now?" He said, and then he laughed.  
  
He laughed because he knew she would never refuse him, and for that same reason, she cried. She was a captive in more ways than one. She was a captive to her emotions and thoughts, a captive to his desires, a captive to her desires, and the more she tried to deny it, the more evident it became that she was a captive. She told herself that she could end this thing at any time, cut the ties, and go about her business. She didn't need him; he didn't need her. Why did that sound so wrong?   
  
He nudged her legs open with one knee and positioned himself between her legs. His hands rested on her upper, inner thigh, kneading the flesh there. He was so close, but not close enough. He was teasing her. She bit back a moan, throwing her head back slightly. She felt his hands sidle up her thighs, along her waist, up her stomach, to her breasts. She pulled away from him, pulling her hands against her thighs, clenching them into fists. "No…" She said, her voice barely above a whisper.   
  
Once upon a time, she fooled herself into believing that all she had to do was say no. Then she came to realize that no was a futile word, and it didn't produce the desired effects when she uttered it. She believed the word "no" was a verbal impetus to him, a challenge waiting to be defeated. She would tell him no, and he would touch her body in ways that made her mind jumble. Then, he would tell she didn't really want him to stop, that she didn't really mean no, and she would succumb to him.   
  
He disregarded her statement with a grunt, wrapping one arm around her, his fingers tickling her spine, moving upward toward her neck. She shivered, arching her spine toward him. He used his free hand to cup one breast, rubbing his thumbs across the sensitive flesh of her nipple. She bit down on her lip, taking in a sharp intake of air. "I don't think you really mean it," his voice was a low, lusty growl. Yes, he was right. She really didn't mean it. It was amazing how he knew what she wanted more than she did.   
  
It was a good thing one of them knew what she wanted, though, because she sure as hell didn't. She spent most of her day telling herself that she didn't want it, and when she was with him, she did and she didn't want it. Then, she was confused afterward, and her emotions would war inside her. And she hated it, and she hated him. Then, she would let herself think that she actually loved him for a brief moment, and then the process would repeat itself. She didn't like those conflicting feelings about him. They scared her.   
  
She didn't even realize she had loosened her hands until she slid her arms around him. It was if her arms had a mind of their own. He rested his lips on the base of her neck, nibbling on her throat, sending her pulse into a frenzied beat. She relaxed into him while his hands caressed her breasts and he kissed a trail up her neck, stopping to suck at a pulse point, and then continuing the trail. She sighed softly and buried her fingers in his hair. Still, her earlier hesitation whispered in the back of her mind, reminding her that there was a downside to this.   
  
What if the cycle never ended? What if they fell into the habit of her being available whenever he wanted? What would she do then? Would she be strong enough to tell him get out of her life, that she wanted something more? She didn't necessarily be married again, but she did want to have children. She knew it was against family values to talk about having children without being married, but at that point in her life, she didn't really care. She could have children without the hassle of having a husband. If it was meant for her to marry again, she would, but if it wasn't, she wouldn't worry herself over it.  
  
Her hands roamed freely over his bare back and chest. The slight fuzz on his chest tickled her palms, and she giggled softly. She followed that trail of hair down his chest to his navel, past his navel where she ran her hand over his erect penis. She wrapped her hand around it, sliding her hand down slowly and then up again in the same leisurely manner. He groaned under her touch, and this time it was he who leaned into her, as she moved her hand up and down, up and down. He covered her hand with his own and allowed her to stroke his shaft. She could feel him blowing shallowly into her neck. Then there was the graze of his teeth on her neck as he shuddered. He made her stop abruptly.   
  
She wondered what went through his mind during these encounters. She would never ask him because she knew she would either not like the answer or he just wouldn't tell her. She liked to believe that he had the same conflicting feelings about her as she did him, but she wasn't so sure that he did. He didn't seem like the type of person that would get attached to a girl just because she was spreading her legs for him. And if he did have some feelings for her, he was excellent at hiding them. She was pretty good at hiding her feelings, too. She didn't think he knew that she took this far more serious than she should. Whoever coined the phrase "harmless sex" should be shot.   
  
He pulled away from her and kissed her chest. The feel of his skin against her breasts was nectarous, but the feel of his lips against her breast was even better, and the feel of his tongue against her breasts was orgasmic. And this time she didn't try to fight the moans that escaped as he twirled his tongue around an erect nipple and rolled the other between his fingers. For a moment, her irrational mind took over. Why couldn't things be like this forever? Why couldn't she just be happy with this and nothing more? Her rational mind answered the questions with one phrase: because despite the circumstances, she did want something more.   
  
She could never forget that she wanted more. Didn't Logan want more out of his life? It startled her that she didn't know anything about his dreams and expectations, yet she knew every inch of his body. In fact, she didn't know a damn thing about him. She didn't know where he lived, where he came from, where he had been. She didn't know what he liked to do in his spare time. She knew nothing about him, and that was not an accident. He was a very closed individual. He was skilled in being aloof and cool. Who knew what secrets he could be hiding.  
  
He explored the space between her breasts, the expanse of her stomach, the breadth of her inner thighs. She could feel that familiar throbbing rising between her legs. He held her hips down and she felt a finger stroking the inside of her thigh, moving closer and closer to her very core. She clutched the sheets beneath her with a death vise in expectation, and she still wasn't ready she felt his thumb press against her clitoris. Involuntarily, her legs closed around his hand, and still her mind raged on in thought between her surges of pleasure. How could she let him do this? They were still strangers to one another.  
  
He didn't know much more about her as she did him. He didn't ask her any personal questions. She didn't even know if he knew she had been married at one point. She had learned early in their liaison not to ask anything personal about him. She had once tried to ask him about his family, and he had told her in no certain terms that his family was none of her fucking business. He could be married with fifty kids, and she would be none the wiser, but all that took a backseat to personal gratification. When she was with him, she could care less if he was or wasn't married.  
  
He was kissing her, two fingers delving in and out of her, a thumb still massaging her clitoris. Her lips moved against his, their tongues intertwining, her nails sinking into his back. Her breath was just a labored pant now. She moved her lips away from his, kissing his jaw, lapping at his neck; the taste of his sweaty skin attacking her taste buds. She savored that taste, committed it to memory like everything else about him. Knowing so little about him made her want to remember every little thing she could when she was with him.   
  
She could feel herself nearing that point. Her body began to stiffen in response as that warm feeling rolled in belly. And then, sensing that she was close, he pulled away from her. She let out a sound of protest and abject anger as her hands flew to finish what he started, but he pinned her hands to her side. How dare he do this to her. She knew what he wanted to hear. Her anger rose, and for a moment, just for that instance, she wanted to tell him to get the hell out of her place; that it was over.   
  
She knew she needed to end the relationship before things went too far. She could tell him that they'd had fun, and now, it was time to move on. She knew that it was already too late. Occasionally, she would work up the courage to tell him that she wanted him out of her life, but then, it was just like she was telling him no. He wouldn't hear a word of it, and soon her words would be lost in a fury of lust and self-satisfaction like now when he took her to that brink and then left her wanting.   
  
"I hate you," she hissed, writhing under him, trying to free her hands. He was a lot stronger than her, and she could hear him laughing at her as she fought to free herself. He wanted her to beg for what she felt like was rightfully hers. Ever since that incident with the handcuffs, he wanted her to beg. She wouldn't do it. She managed to wrench one arm away from him, and she used it to slap him soundly across the face. His laughter stopped suddenly. She had never struck him before, but her anger wouldn't allow her to apologize to him. He didn't apologize to her, so why should she apologize to him?  
  
Her eyes burned into his for what seemed like an eternity, but she was sure it wasn't more than a few seconds. She could see the anger smoldering in his eyes, and she felt a little fearful. He grabbed her shoulders, picking them up slightly, and then slammed them against the bed. It didn't hurt, but it still surprised her. Then, they were a fury of motion as they wrestled in the bed, tangling themselves in the sheets, nearly falling off the too tall bed. She slapped and kicked and scratched, and he grabbed and pushed and pulled. No matter how many times she hit him, he never hit her back.  
  
And then, she was pulling him toward her for an angry kiss. That anger transferring itself into riotous passion. She was blind with fury and passion. She wanted to push him away, but she pulled him closer. And she felt the tears of rage and frustration stream down her face, but she was unable to do anything to stop them. He entered her with one forceful thrust, and she clawed at his back, bit at his shoulders. Each vigorous thrust was punctuated with a moaned, "I hate you," until the words died in her throat and there was nothing left but her moans and his grunts.   
  
Then, she felt that tension building up again, and she clung to him tightly. She felt him pulling away from her, once again, and she didn't think she could endure it a second time. She needed release, now. She heard herself saying, "No, please… I need you to…" She trailed off. He had gotten her to beg, anyway. No matter how insignificant those words may have seemed, they were still a plea. She didn't have time to mull over the fact that she had given in when she quivered as that delicious warm feeling of release encompassed her.   
  
Broken thoughts ran through her head as she trembled under him. She loved, she hated, she wanted, she loathed, she needed, she regretted, why couldn't he just… She closed her eyes tightly, trying to calm her thoughts. "Open your eyes, darlin'." She did as she was told, staring up into his eyes as her orgasm died down. There was no emotion there, and she wanted to turn her face from his, but she didn't. A few moments later, he let out a low growl and collapsed on top of her, his face buried in her neck. She felt disgusted with herself and with him.   
  
She pushed him off her and escaped to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She turned the shower on, letting the steam fill the bathroom. She cried softly to herself as she stepped into the shower. What was going on?   
  
She stayed in the bathroom longer than she intended, and when she exited, he was long gone. Not that that was anything new to her. She went about the tedious task of changing her sheets. She didn't want any reminder of what just happened there, and while she remade her bed, she got valuable time to assess the situation.  
  
Maybe things wouldn't be so bad if she had someone she could talk to. That was the worst part about their situation; she didn't have anyone to confide in, to express her fears to. Jean was the closest friend she had, and Ororo wouldn't even tell her what was going on. She didn't want anyone to know; she was too ashamed of the fact that she was allowing that to happen. She didn't need anyone's pitying or distasteful affirmations to reaffirm the fact. She would continue to deal with him in her own way.   
  
And what if she got pregnant or if someone found out somehow, what was she supposed to do then? She chewed on her bottom lip and decided that was a problem she would have to tackle if it ever came up. She shouldn't have to be the one who worried all the time about them. It was like some punishment for getting involved with him. She often wanted to ask him what did he think of the mess they were in, but she knew she probably wouldn't get much of an answer from him – if any at all. He would act as if nothing happened while she was left to worry.  
  
And as if that wasn't enough for her to worry about, there was Joaquín. Joaquín had come to the club every night since the initial night they met. Maybe he had always come to the club, and she never noticed him. He finally introduced himself to her, even though she already knew his name, asked her again if she would visit his class, which she said she would. She found him a pleasant distraction at the club, even when she thought she didn't want to be distracted. He was so friendly and easy to talk to.   
  
She found herself neglecting other customers just to talk to him. Even Logan, who rarely said anything at all to her at the club, commented that she needed to pay more attention to her customers, and she made a snappy comeback about his flirting with the female patrons. Her grunted at her as usual, and then went back to ignoring her. She wasn't really annoyed with Logan's comment. It meant he was paying a little attention to her outside the bedroom, right? Joaquín should have been an indicator to Logan that she wasn't a social pariah who was incapable of snagging someone, a pariah he should feel the need to take pity on by fucking her whenever he felt like it.  
  
Besides, Joaquín was charming and funny, and she thought she might really like him. She didn't want to like him, but it was hard not to like him. She was already in deep enough with Logan; she didn't need a new face added to the mix. She thought she might actually love Logan, but now that Joaquín was around, she wasn't so sure. She had to stop thinking about everything in terms of Logan.   
  
How she decided to live her life shouldn't have anything to do with Logan. If she decided to go out and sleep with half of New York, she shouldn't think twice about what Logan would think about it. However, she couldn't help it. He was in her life now, no matter if it was just for sex.  
  
Maybe the feelings she had for Logan was post-coital emotions. Maybe she was slightly obsessed with Logan because he was the first man she had been with since her divorce. Sex had a way of distorting things, making you think you were in love when you really weren't. She stood straight, letting a sheet slip from her hand. "Yes, that's it. I'm just obsessed with him. I'm not in love." She said aloud.   
  
She felt giddy with this new information that the feelings she had for Logan were merely an infatuation thing like a schoolgirl crush. It was just a crush, and she would be over it before she knew it. And with Joaquín in her life, that process was sure to speed up. 


	4. The Date

**_Chapter Four  
The Date_**

A week later, she found herself walking into Joaquín's classroom. A nude male model was posing in the middle of the classroom. Mozart played lightly in the room. Joaquín was standing a couple of feet away, scrutinizing the man and drawing on his canvas. He was wearing thin-framed glasses now, and they gave him an air of intellectual propriety, making him even more handsome. He wore a plain, white shirt that was stained with charcoal and paint. He smiled when he saw her and walked toward her. "Hello, I am glad you could make it," he said softly.

He led her toward a bench with an easel-like part attached to it. "I'm afraid all the easels are taken. You don't mind using a horse, do you?" He asked.

"You were serious about dressing in something old and working with charcoal?" She hadn't really expected to come to his class and draw; she thought he had been joking. She came to observe not participate. He bit back a smile and gave her a large drawing pad and a piece of charcoal. He was serious.

"I will be right back to check on you." He walked off and started glancing at some of the students' drawings. Every now and again he would stop and say something to one of the students.

Ororo straddled the horse as she saw a couple of other students doing. She placed her pad on the easel and looked at the model. He stood so still like Michelangelo's David, except the tint of his skin betrayed life, and every so often, the model's eyes would flutter as if he just realized what that he was standing there nude and his chest would move slightly when he took a breath. She held the charcoal awkwardly in her hands and debated on where she should start. A couple of minutes later with no progress whatsoever done, Joaquín appeared at her side.

She heard him chuckle while looking at her blank paper. It wasn't a derisive laugh, but an amused chuckle. "I will help you get started." He said and sat behind her on the horse. She wanted to move away from him, but there was nowhere to go. There was something sensual about the way they were sitting – him behind her, his thighs enfolding hers, his chest on her back moving steadily as he breathed, the way he breathed on her neck. Snap out of it, she said to herself.

He gently pulled her hand away from the paper. "Let me show you the right way to hold the charcoal." He chuckled, taking the piece of charcoal from her. He told her to put three fingers over the top of it and use her thumb to secure it. Then, he directed her hand back to the paper and showed her how to pivot her wrist so that the lines flowed. He placed his hand over hers, helping her to draw the contours of the man's body. It didn't look too bad, but then again, she hadn't drawn it by herself.

"Do not look at body parts; look at his body as if it were just lines and angles." He whispered, his breath tickling the skin of her neck, causing her to goosebumps to rise on her skin. She fought the urge to lay her head on his shoulders and try to melt into him. He moved closer to her, and she sighed as images of him kissing her neck while they sat like that invaded her mind. She blinked rapidly, trying to concentrate on the task at hand, but she couldn't concentrate on what he was doing because she was aware of _him_.

He left her, again, a few minutes later, and she continued the painstaking task of trying not to see body parts but "lines and angles", as Joaquín had said, but she found herself thoroughly distracted, now. Once the class was over and the students were gone, she walked around the classroom looking at the various drawings that decorated the wall. A man and a woman locked in an embrace, a modern day Adam and Eve. A mother holding a child in her maternal embrace. A young woman in a shy, virginal pose. A group of men and women who were nothing more than a tangle of limbs and body parts.

She turned to him. He was leaning against the sink in the far corner of the room watching her, wiping his hands with a towel. "Which of these are yours?" She asked, waving her hands at the drawings.

"None. I take my artwork home. This isn't a place for me to exhibit my talent; this is a place for my students' work to shine through." He walked toward her and stared at some of the drawings. "They are quite talented, aren't they?" She could hear the obvious note of pride in his voice like a father bragging on his children's accomplishments.

"Yes, they are all so beautiful." She said with earnest admiration.

He reached for her suddenly, touching her face gently. She thought the might kiss her, but then, she felt his thumb swipe gently across her skin. "You had charcoal on your face." He said. Disappointment welled in her. So much for that assumption. "Do you like the blues?"

"Yeah, why?" She said absently.

"Because I am going to a blues club tonight, and I was wondering if you like to be my date."

"Look at me. I looked like I just finished sweeping a chimney." She joked. She had successfully managed to get more of the charcoal on herself than she had the drawing pad.

"And you think I look much better?" He laughed, motioning at his paint-splattered shirt and jeans; he looked like a breathing swatch. "How about you go home and get cleaned up, I'll do the same, and I can pick you up from your house."

She gave the idea some thought. Why not? It could be fun, as he often said. "Sure." She finally said.

She went home and cleaned up. She went through numerous outfits and mulled over whether she should wear her hair up or down. She finally decided on pair of dark blue jeans and an oversized, beige boat neck sweater with her hair down. Then, she called Jean at the club, and they squealed like a couple of schoolgirls for a few minutes. "I don't care how late it is I want to hear every detail when you get home if you get home!" Jean added slyly before Ororo hung up the phone.

He was punctual. He even called to confirm her address before coming to pick her up. He was dressed similar to her. Jeans and a turtleneck. You could never go wrong with that combination. They made small talk, laced with private jokes, in his car, and once, he touched her hand while they were talking. She had smiled at him shyly.

The club was smoky and intimate. It reminded her of the juke joints she saw on television. A man was on stage with a guitar lamenting the reason why his baby left him. They sat at a table near the small stage, and Ororo looked down at her hands, suddenly interested in her fingernails. This was the first date she'd had in a long time. She was starting to feel a little timid, and he didn't make it any easier when he stared at her.

His stare was bold, and it made her face warm. Maybe that was why he did it, to see what kind of reaction she would have to it. "Let's play a game." Joaquín said. She was becoming used to the abrupt way he said everything. He was astute and desultory, and he didn't beat around the bush. If he had something to say, he just said it, and that was that.

"A game?" She said, looking up from her hands. She raised her eyes at him in curiosity.

He nodded. "Yeah, we're going to make up lives for people." He said.

"What?" She asked, a smile playing on her lips. "I don't think I follow you."

He pulled his chair to her side of the table so that they were sitting side by side. He leaned toward her, saying in a low voice. "It's easy. I'll show you. See that woman over there, the one running her hand nervously through her hair?"

Ororo looked in the direction of his eyes. She saw a woman looking around nervously, running her fingers through matte-black hair that fell just below her jawbone. The woman could have been pretty, but right now, it was obvious that she was a nervous wreck. "Yeah," she said.

"She's waiting for someone, her lover maybe. He's married, and she's nervous because she's pregnant. She plans to tell him tonight, but she's afraid that he might not accept her news or accept their baby. She's afraid that he will deny it, deny her." Joaquín said, looking at the woman as if he were in deep concentration.

"But you don't know that." Ororo protested.

"Of course, I don't. That's the point. Because I don't know, I'm allowed to speculate on what her life might be like. You try." He said.

Ororo thought it was a bit silly, but she took a deep breath. "She's conflicted. She doesn't know what to do. She's been sleeping with a man that she knows doesn't care about her. He treats her like a whore, his personal sex slave. Now, she wants out, and she… she doesn't know how to end it because she thinks she loves him. And now she's thinking maybe she deserves it, to be treated that way."

She looked at Joaquín, her eyes burning. He had a look of understanding, and she was sure that he realized that she really wasn't really talking about the woman but herself. He didn't say anything about it, though. He just nodded, and said, "Does she really think she deserves it? Has she ever stopped to think that we might not always deserve what we get?"

"But she would argue that we might get what we deserve, and maybe she has done something to deserve it." Ororo countered.

"I don't think she deserves to be treated in such a manner. Maybe she deserves to be cared for and revered for her beauty, not just her physical beauty, but her inner beauty as well." He said. Ororo was sure that they definitely weren't talking about the woman with the matte-black hair anymore.

She wanted to laugh derisively in his face and ask him what did he know about her inner beauty. What kind of inner beauty did she possess when she let another person debase her, use her for his personal pleasure? And would he think she was so beautiful on the inside if he knew she enjoyed it? Instead, she used her usual survival tactic and steered the conversation to something different. "What kind of life did you make up for me the first time we met?" She asked.

An impish grin spread across his face. "I decided that you looked so sad because you recently broke up with a boyfriend and that you needed someone to show you that there was plenty of life waiting out there for you, and who better to show you that than me? Am I right?"

"You're a real charmer, aren't you?" Ororo said, barely able to contain a smile. "For your information, you were close, but not close enough. And that's all I'm telling you."

"Ah, but I was close. That's what counts, right?" He chuckled.

"I want to ask you something." Ororo asked him, suddenly serious.

"Anything."

"Of all the women in the club, why me? What made you show interest in me?" His eyes flickered to her hair, and she ran a hand through her snowy tresses. "The hair. I should have known. It's always the hair."

"It's unusual, but it's very beautiful. It contrasts nicely with your skin. It's subtle in the sense that it isn't a bright blue or red, but at the same time, it's not subtle because it is an unusual color."

"Sometimes, I wish it was a little more subtle." She said, and he looked at her questioningly. "I don't dye my hair this color. It grows this color. This hair was the cause of many childhood fights."

She waited for the normal questions people asked when they found out her hair was naturally white. "How did that happen?" "What did the doctors say about it?" And her all-time, personal favorite, "Does it hurt to grow white hair?" which she always responded with did it hurt to grow whatever color their hair was. But he just shrugged, taking her answer as is.

"Well, I think it is simply stunning, but your hair is only part of the reason you intrigued me. You are an intriguing woman. If I hadn't noticed your hair, I think I would have still noticed you." He said.

She didn't know how to respond to his compliment. She didn't think what he said was entirely true. He probably would've never given her a passing glance if it hadn't been for the hair. He turned his attention toward the stage. A man was strumming his guitar, his eyes were closed, and he was moving his head around slowly. "_You know I talk to my baby like a mother talk to her kid. You know I love that woman, but I just can't keep it hid. She got the devil in her. Yes, that woman got the devil in her. She got the devil in her 'cause she says she feel like doing something wrong…_" The man sang in a raspy voice.

A couple of people "amen"-ed and "yes, Lawd"-ed at the man on stage including Joaquín who had his eyes closed bobbing his head to the beat and tapped his foot on the hardwood floor. He opened his eyes and turned his attention to her. "Would you care to dance?" He asked.

Ororo looked around the smoky club. "No one else is dancing."

"So? We'll be dancing." He grabbed one of her hands and pulled her to an empty space on the floor and she didn't protest. He put one hand on her hip and rocked her body to the beat of the music. When he was sure she got, he put one hand on the small of her back while they swayed to the music. No one else in the club seemed to notice them dancing. All eyes were still turned to stage and the man singing about the woman who had the "devil in her". She didn't look at him. She could feel his eyes fastened on her as if she were the only woman in the room. He pulled her closer to him and leaned his head against hers, and she closed her eyes.

Her hand had unwittingly crawled up his chest and was now nestled in his hair, and it felt just as she suspected like satin beneath the fingers. They moved as one, and she forget to be apprehensive about the fact that no one else was dancing. She no longer heard the music. She concentrated, instead, on them; the feel of her heart beat against her breast, the feel of his sweet breath on the side of her face, the feel of their bodies against one another. She buried her face in his chest; she felt safe in his arms.

This was it. This was the way things were supposed to be. She didn't care that this could've been a false sense of protection. All that mattered was she felt secure; she felt desirable; she felt wanted. She could've stayed like that forever. She opened her eyes and dazed dreamily around the club while they swayed in a circle. Then, she stiffened against Joaquín when she thought she saw Logan standing by the bar. Joaquín turned her from that direction, and she pulled away from him, turning back toward the bar. She saw no one.

She cursed herself silently for thinking that Logan had actually followed her. Now, the spell was broken. "Are you okay?" Joaquín asked, his voice holding a hint of worry.

"Yes," she answered. "I just thought I saw an old friend, but I think I was mistaken."

"Do you want to leave?"

"Yes, please." Ororo said.

Joaquín gathered their jackets. He helped her jacket on, and they walked out into the brisk, cool night. The sharp sting of the cold air against her lungs seemed to make things more lucid. There was no way that she could've seen Logan at the club. She realized her eyes were playing horrible tricks on her, and she didn't know why.

"Ororo, are you sure that you are okay?" Joaquín repeated. They started walking toward his car. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she leaned into him.

"Yes, I'm quite sure. I just felt a little disoriented thinking I saw my friend." She said softly.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

"Oh no, I'm having a wonderful time with you."

He beamed. "What would you like to do, now? Are you hungry? Do you want to catch a late movie? Would you like to go to your friend's club?" The questions came out his mouth as a definitive blur.

"Whoa, slow down. I'm not hungry, but I would like to stop by the club." She wanted to stop by the club to make sure he was there. That was the only way that she would be able to quell her fear that he had been following her. Once she saw him at the club, there would be no question that she was seeing things.

The Phoenix was packed as usual when they arrived and more people were awaiting entrance to the club. Victor nodded Ororo and Joaquín into the club while he told a girl gruffly that she had to be 18 to enter and 21 to drink, and she wasn't either. The girl uttered a few curses at Victor, which promptly ended when he told her he wouldn't hit a woman, but he sure as hell would shake the hell out of one. The girl finally relented and left.

Ororo scanned the bar area where she saw the new guy, Remy LeBeau she believed his name was, and Yuriko making up drinks for the customers. She didn't see Logan, though, and her blood rushed to her ears. Yuriko waved, and Ororo waved back halfheartedly. She walked with Joaquín to the bar and seated herself in front of Yuriko, who leaned against the bar, leisurely. "Hey, Ororo. Even when you're off, you can't keep away from this place, huh? And who's the hottie?" Yuriko teased, patting Ororo's hand, making a "rawr" sound in Joaquín's direction.

"This is my friend, Joaquín Allende." Ororo smiled despite herself.

Yuriko turned her attention toward Joaquín. "Since, you're already obviously taken," Yuriko cut her eyes slyly at Ororo and then back to Joaquín, "tell me you have a twin brother who looks just like you."

Joaquín laughed. "No. I apologize. I am one of a kind. But I do come from a family overrun by men." He said mischievously.

"There is a God. I'll leave my name and phone number with you. Just send one of your dashing male relatives my way. Yuriko will take good care of him." Yuriko joked with a wink. "What can I get you two lovebirds?"

Ororo started to protest at the mention of them being "lovebirds", but Joaquín said, "A water," before she could reprimand Yuriko. She found herself echoing him, asking for a water as well.

"Where's Jean?" Ororo asked when Yuriko sat their bottled waters in front of them.

"Hell, I don't know. She came up front and told Logan that she needed to speak to him in her office." Yuriko said with a wiggle of her eyebrows. "Logan don't seem like the talking type, so I'm not convinced there's a lot of talking going on in there."

Ororo tried to ignore it. She wouldn't allow herself to believe that Logan and Jean were sleeping together. Jean would never do that to Scott. Yuriko had a bad habit of blowing out a lot of hot air. If you let Yuriko tell the story, everyone was sleeping with everyone else in that club – except her. However, now her fears were quieted. Logan had been at the club the whole time.

"Yuriko, you should be ashamed of yourself for implying something is going on between the two. You know Jean is hopelessly devoted to Scott." Ororo chided.

"Don't give me that fairytale love shit. Ororo, he's obsessed with her. Haven't you ever noticed how his eyes follow her around everywhere? It was a lot worse before you started working here. I guess he figures with you being friends with both Scott and Jean, you'll snitch on him to Scott or something. There's Vic. You can ask him."

Yuriko waved him over and gave him the rundown on what they were talking about. Then, he told Ororo, "He's got it bad. He sniffs after that piece of ass like a dog sniffs after meat." Ororo didn't say anything as Victor made a few other crude remarks about Logan and walked off. She had never noticed, and she knew she shouldn't be listening to Yuriko, but even Victor confirmed it. Joaquín shifted beside her; she had forgotten that he was sitting there. Obviously, he was uncomfortable listening to them gossip about their friends.

"Hey, new kid!" Yuriko suddenly yelled down the bar. That kid wasn't too much younger than she was. "Stop flirting and get to working! What do you think we're running here? A dating service?"

"Remy sorry, Yuriko." He flashed a flirtatious smile her way. He laughed a little longer with the women before sending them on their way.

"I swear he worries more about trying to get laid than working." Yuriko complained to Ororo with a roll of her eyes. Ororo tried to appear interested, but she was bothered by this new information. There was a crash of glass, and Remy let out a string of French words that Ororo was sure was unfit for virgin ears. Yuriko turned to Remy, clenching her teeth, making angry clawing motions at him. She didn't even say goodbye as she charged to his end of the bar.

She drank her water, silently, and then she started a conversation with Joaquín, not wanting to think anout Logan and Jean anymore. Eventually, she settled into a nice conversation with him. They turned in their seats toward the dance floor and laughed at some of the more outrageous club goers, and she mentioned something about being interested in Flamenco dancing. Then, he asked her if she liked to salsa or mambo, and she said she didn't know she had never really done it. He asked her how did she know she would like Flamenco dancing, and she said she just knew. And that was a good enough answer for Joaquín.

Then, she saw Logan walking across the club and she looked down at her shoes.

"Excuse me for a moment," Joaquín said. "Restroom break."

She watched him disappear in the direction of the restrooms. She tried to ignore the fact that Logan was behind her. Instead, she concentrated on the noises of the club. The music blasting out of the loudspeaker mixed with Yuriko's shrill scolding of Remy who was answering her back in his broken English mixed with French. "You need somethin'?" Logan said behind her. He made it sound as if she had no right to be there. She shook her head, not turning to look at him.

She saw Joaquin walking toward her. He stopped on the fringes on the dancing crowd and motioned her toward him, and she was more than happy to comply. Logan grabbed her hand before she could leave the bar. That was the first time he had made actual physical contact with her in the presence of others. She didn't know whether she should feel honored or alarmed. She turned to him surprised. "I know what you're tryin' to do, and it ain't workin'."

"What are you talking about?" She asked, pulling her hand away from him.

"You skip in here with him, and I'm supposed to be jealous, huh? Well, like I said, it ain't workin'." He said, his voice low. She could have laughed. He thought she was trying to make him jealous, and it was obvious he was jealous, even though he said it "ain't workin'". She was sure that she wasn't using Joaquín to get back at Logan. She honestly liked Joaquín's company, making Logan jealous was just an advantage of being Joaquín's friend.

"I am not trying to make you jealous. Everything isn't always about you. No matter what you may believe. It is possible for people to do things in their lives without worrying how their decision is going to affect you." She said scornfully. It was one of the few times that she had used such a contemptuous tone with him.

"You can't really like him." He said; his voice was still low and cool.

"And why is that?" She shot back, offended. "Is it so wrong for me to like someone who will be there when I need them, to be in a relationship that isn't hidden in the dark? Am I not allowed to be happy?" They stared at each other a moment, angry eyes flashing between the two. He couldn't seem to come up with a rebuttal to that accusation, and he seemed to let out a resigned sigh.

She spun on her heel and joined Joaquin on the dance floor where she made a great show of grinding her hips against his and running her hands over his body, her former reserve fading, while a female voice wailed, "_I can't help this longing. Comfort me. I can't hold it all in. If you won't let me. Heaven holds a sense of wonder, and I wanted to believe that I'd get caught up when the rage in me subsides…_" Every now and again, she would glance in Logan's direction. He stood stoically with his arms crossed over his chest.

Song(s) mentioned in this chapter: "She Got the Devil in Her" by Buddy Guy and "Silence" by Delirium ft. Sarah McLachlan (DJ Tiesto remix)


	5. The Complication

**_Chapter Five  
The Complication_**  
  
_Click. Click._  
  
She clenched her teeth tightly together, trying to drown out the metallic noise that pierced the darkness like an arrow pierced the heart. She hated that sound, not just because she hated the twangy sound of metal against metal. No, that sound struck a much deeper chord inside her. That was the sound that signaled her loss of freedom.  
  
_Click. Click._  
  
That sound indicated the end of her sovereignty over her body. Her body was no longer hers to control; she now belonged to him, wholly. She jerked her wrists against her restraints, as if she could somehow miraculously free herself, and was rewarded with the sting of the handcuffs biting into her wrists. Why couldn't he buy those fake handcuffs that one could easily take off? She let out a frustrated sigh.   
  
He was playing that same old game again, chaining her to the bed, leaving her there to bathe in her familiar, conflicting emotions. There was no chase this time, no hunter versus prey. He had seemed somewhat meek, a word she wouldn't usually associate with him, when he came to her this time, but that quickly changed. She couldn't believe she had let him subject her to this again.   
  
When he arrived, she had thought things were…different. No, something was different. She had felt it like a sixth sense. She had been sitting in her living thoroughly engrossed in a book. She hadn't even heard him when he entered, and that was probably what he wanted. She had felt the sensation of eyes on her, the fine hairs on her neck prickled in warning. She turned toward the door to find him leaning in the doorway. There were no words of greeting—there never were—just as there were no goodbyes between them.  
  
She had stared at him with one catechistic eyebrow raised, standing slowly from her seat on the couch. She could tell at that instance that something was _different_. She didn't know how to describe it any other way. He walked toward her determinedly, wrapping his arms around tight, looking her in the eyes. Their lips met in an overpowering kiss that threatened to take her breath away. There was something almost endearing about this kiss, something that had never been there before.   
  
Then, she felt her back pressing against the wall. She didn't even realize they had moved. She didn't get a chance to think about it as his mouth explored the soft flesh of her throat, his five-o'clock shadow scratching her. Her body betrayed her, arching toward him, asking for more. "You don't need him." He muttered into her throat, his lips tickling her. She didn't need who? Joaquín? Was that who he was referring to? "Promise me…" He trailed off.   
  
Promise him what? Suddenly, she was drowning in the new emotions that were filling the room. She couldn't breath. She slipped away from him, making some excuse about needing to go somewhere, anywhere, he wasn't. She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, trying to calm her raging libido and her raging heart. When she went back to the living room, he wasn't there. The bedroom. She knew that's where he was because that's where most of their business took place.  
  
She walked up the stairs and cautiously into her room. He pulled her into his arms again, crushing his lips against her. This kiss was greedy and frantic, nothing like the kiss from before. Those emotions from earlier were no longer there. They were longed replace by lust and want. He was already gripping the material of the button-up shirt that fell to her knees, the only thing covering her bra and panty clad body. He pulled the fabric away from her body, buttons giving to his tugs with a soft pop in the process.   
  
Various articles of clothing flew across the room with little notice from their owners. She hadn't been paying too much attention when he led her to the bed. It was hard to concentrate on what was going on around you when you're were getting pretty hot and heavy with someone. Maybe, she would have noticed the handcuffs if she had been a little more aware of what was going on around her. If she had noticed them, maybe, she wouldn't have cared anyway. No, she would have cared, but she wouldn't have protested.   
  
Now, she found herself chained to her own bed again – chained in many ways than just by the physical implication. This has got to end. She said to herself. She could not keep up with the emotional baggage she was acquiring from this relationship. She jiggled the handcuffs against the bedpost, wanting the deafening silence to cease. There was no music this time, not even Janet to keep her company with her notions of love. The bed shifted as he climbed in beside her, but he didn't touch her. She closed her eyes.   
  
How could she let this happen again? How could she willingly give in to this?  
  
She was two people living in the same body. She had to be. She couldn't make sense of what was going on if she believed otherwise. It was like in the daytime, or whenever she wasn't around Logan, she was Ororo Munroe – calm, judicious, constant. At night, or whenever Logan was around, she was 'Ro – carnal, submissive, insatiable. That's what she would choose to believe. Two very different women inhabited her body, fighting for control. Why else would she continue to allow him to come to her still?  
  
Even after their brief disagreement, if you could even call it a disagreement, at the club, he still came to her, and she didn't turn him away. It was as if it had never happened. They didn't mention the incident at the club. Though, she wanted to say something to him about Jean. She hated herself for doubting Jean, but, at the same time, part of her did want to know. If he was sleeping with Jean, then why he was sleeping with her as well? Was it because she was available and willing? Just letting that thought cross her mind made her feel like a whore.  
  
Their lovemaking—no, their fucking—was feverish. She watched his eyes slide over her body. She felt her face warm and a hint of shyness crept through her body. It didn't matter how many times a person saw you naked; there was something about the way that a person could look at you that could always make it feel like they were seeing you for the first time. That's how she felt right now, as if he was looking at her for the first time.  
  
His tongue touched her first – just his tongue, nothing else. She felt a gentle bite on her stomach. He moved upward leaving behind a trail of moist, hot skin as his tongue roamed her body. She can already feel the first wave of pleasurable chills consuming her body. His teeth grazed her skin, his fingers sank into her flesh, his tongue tasted her treasure. No part of her body went unexplored from his ardent fingers and torrid tongue.   
  
She lifted her hips toward him, inviting him to enter her temple. They molded together, perfect for just that moment. They were no longer Ororo and Logan. They were just man and woman in perfect harmony. Nothing else mattered.   
  
The sound of bedsprings and moaning filled the room as he held tightly to her. Her arms strained against her bonds sending a delicious throb through her wrist that mixed with her mounting pleasure as she met his every thrust – wanting it harder, faster, deeper. He was sending her spiraling toward a violent orgasm. This was her agony and her ecstasy. Oh Goddess, she didn't want this, but she knew that wasn't true. She lived for this moment. Everything about this moment was perfect. And all that mattered was this moment.  
  
When they were both sedated, basking in the afterglow of being together, she wondered how one man could make her go through so many ranges of emotion – in so little time. The thought bemused her. She didn't look at him when he uncuffed her. She always avoided his gaze these days, not just because of the regret, but because every time she looked at him, she saw her transgression.  
  
She made a beeline to her bathroom, her new escape route. She filled her tub to the brim and slipped into a relaxing bath. The warm water soothed her aching wrists and calmed the throbbing between her legs. She wished she could have had candles lit around the tub, music playing lightly as she soaked, and a glass of champagne – a glass of Krug Rosé preferably. She would have to remember go all out and splurge on a bottle or two when she finally sold that house. It would be her going away present to herself.  
  
She sat in the tub until the water cooled and her eyes threatened to close. She wrapped herself in a thick robe, humming to herself as she opened the door. She was surprised to find him still there when she exited the bathroom. He was fully clothed, now, and he looked completely unruffled as he leaned against the bed. She clutched her robe tighter to her body. She stood in her spot, fidgeting for a moment, unsure of what to say or do next.   
  
He didn't appear to be preparing, and she was starting to feel increasingly uncomfortable. She hoped he didn't want to talk or anything. What could they have to talk about, anyway? She wasn't even sure if they even had anything in common besides sex. She certainly didn't want to talk about the meaning behind those confessions from earlier. She just wanted to curl under her blankets and fall into a peaceful sleep. "What's wrong?" She asked before she could stop the words from coming.   
  
She automatically assumed that something was wrong since he hadn't left. It was pretty much an unspoken agreement that he left after the sex. It was just much easier that way. "Nothin'," he said. _Then, why are you still here?_ She wanted to ask, but she just looked at him, waiting for him to say something more. "About what I said earlier…" his voice trailed. He raked his hands sheepishly through his hair.  
  
She started to panic inwardly, thinking of something to say before he went on. She didn't want to discuss what was said. She wanted to think about it alone, and then discuss it with him later… maybe. "Let's not discuss that. What you said earlier was uttered in a moment of passion," she almost snorted when she said the word passion.  
  
She didn't know why she wouldn't let him explain at that moment. It wasn't that she wasn't curious as to why he had said it; she just didn't want to hear it. Maybe, she was afraid of what he was going to say. She had worked so hard on convincing herself that this was just a relationship based on sex that she feared he would tell or something different. Or worse, he would verify her thoughts, and then, she would feel like she's sunk to an all new low.  
  
"Tell me something," she said, not pausing to allow him to answer her. She wasn't going to give him the opportunity to brush her concerns aside. "I know this may sound silly, but is there something going on between you and Jean?"  
  
"You been listenin' to Yuriko's shit, ain't ya?" He countered. It didn't sound like an accusation. In fact, she thought she heard amusement in his timbre. He made her feel kind of silly. Who really listened to Yuriko? Yuriko talked all the time. It was what she lived for; that didn't mean it was true. But Ororo wasn't going to let him feel like he had one-upped her.   
  
"I didn't say Yuriko said anything." Ororo said indignantly. She felt like a child disputing a rumor she heard in the hallway of school. She also noted that he didn't answer her question. She hated when people answered her questions with another question. She believed that meant they were hiding something.   
  
"You ain't gotta say it for me to know."   
  
She concentrated on a spot on the carpet. "Who said she was the only one who said anything?" Ororo ventured, looking up slowly for some sort of reaction. She saw him clench his jaw, and then relax it again.  
  
"Creed…" The word came out a guttural, dangerous growl. Ororo thought if Victor had been there right at that very moment, Logan would have jumped all over him.  
  
"I didn't say–"  
  
"Look," he said, cutting her off, "there ain't many of us working in that place. And there ain't many of us in that place who don't know how to keep our mouth shut, so it don't take a lot of second guessing to know that Yuriko and Creed said somethin'. You ain't gotta protect them."  
  
"I'm not protecting anyone. I just want to avoid any pointless confrontation." She mumbled.   
  
"Then, why did you even bring it up?" He asked.   
  
She imagined herself saying something biting and indifferent to his statement. Something that would make him realize that she didn't care for that offhand attitude he had when it came to everything. This was a serious matter. Was he fucking her best friend over like he was fucking her over? However, she didn't respond with a caustic reply. Instead, she tried to probe calmly, hoping that he would answer.  
  
"This isn't exactly a comfortable situation. If you and Jean…" If him and Jean, what? If he and Jean were fucking, it was over? There was never anything to begin with. There is no us. There is no we. So, how can something that never was end? She asked herself bitterly. Still, she didn't even want to think about him and Jean. "I don't want to get into the technicalities of the situation. I just wanted a simple yes or no."  
  
He shrugged, looking blasé, unaffected by her terse statement. "Why not ask her?" Why was he asking most of the questions? She was the one who was supposed to be questioning him, and yet, he was the one asking all the questions. Still, Ororo thought about that question for a second. There were many answers to that question. She didn't want to hurt Jean if it wasn't true.   
  
She couldn't begin to imagine how Jean would feel if she knew her employees thought she, a married woman, was having an affair with Logan. She didn't want Jean to know that she listened to such petty hearsay. But above all, Ororo feared that her friend would confirm the rumor, that she would say that she was having an affair with Logan. And Ororo didn't know how she would handle that. She would rather hear it from his mouth, rather than Jean's. It would hurt a lot less if she heard him say it.   
  
She couldn't come up with a way to express that to him, and honestly, she didn't want to. "I think this conversation is over." She said, trying to sound resolute.  
  
"It should have never started." He shrugged with that same don't care attitude.  
  
_Fuck you_ was what she was thinking. "Yeah, you're probably right," was what she responded with. Then, she kicked herself mentally for not being more assertive. She wasn't the type of person that would let people walk all over her, but she just couldn't bring herself to argue with him.   
  
So what if he was sleeping with Jean. She shouldn't be the one to worry about it. Jean would have to answer to the consequence of her own actions if that's what was going on. The only reason she wanted to know was because she didn't think it was right and… and… she was lying to herself. She knew that she would feel hurt and betrayed, even though Jean didn't know about her and Logan. _And my Goddess,_ she thought to herself, what if they had been seeing each other all along and she was sort of the other woman?  
  
She could feel herself getting sick at the thought. She felt an invisible hand clutch her throat and she tried to calm down. What had she gotten herself into? And furthermore, was it too late to get out of it? Why had she been so blind? Why didn't she see that he had a thing for her friend? "I need to get some rest. I have some things I have to do early tomorrow. You know your way out." She said curtly. She did have things to do. She had to go see her realtor for one.   
  
She couldn't have been more relieved when he left. She had the feeling that things were getting a little more complicated, now. There were so many factors being thrown into the equation, now. Or maybe, it was just her imagination working overtime. She hadn't conjured up the possible affair between Logan and Jean. She had Yuriko to thank for that one. And she hadn't imagined what he said earlier. She had heard him loud and clear. She was still trying to decipher what it meant. She knew what he literally meant, but she was trying to figure out what it meant for them – if it meant anything at all for them.


	6. The Resolution

**_Chapter Six  
Resolution_**

"Wow, Ororo, you look hot." Jean said the next day at the club as she sorted through the pictures. A sea of photos spread across the bar. "I think I like this one best." 

It was a black and white picture of a sad Ororo looking out the window; her arms crossed over her bare breasts, a sheet clung loosely to her waist. It had taken them forever to get that shot because she had been bashful of being partially nude in front Joaquín. The expression hadn't been hard to conjure up. All she did was think about every feeling she had ever reserved secretly for Logan, but the getting nude part had been a bit of an obstacle. 

Remy held up a picture of her and Joaquín at the park. They were sitting on a bench. Ororo's head was settled on Joaquín's shoulder. He was looking down into her face, wisps of his dark hair was falling into his eyes. Someone at the park had taken that. It wasn't posed. She had said something to him right before a kind stranger agreed to snap the picture.

In another picture Ororo had snapped him herself, he was trying to hid his face from the camera, but she had managed to get a nice picture of him with his eyes closed, smiling wide, showing off gleaming teeth. She smiled as she thought of her time with Joaquín. They had traipsed around the city like a couple of teenagers. They had snapped more pictures in fun than of her modeling.

"Remy t'ink 'Roro done found her a new beau." Remy said with a charming smile. 

"When are you going to grow up, Remy, and start treating me like this?" Yuriko said without her usual malice. Ororo thought she had gotten over the initial disgust of being attracted to a younger man.

"Quand tu m'aimes," he answered, kissing one of Yuriko's hands, making his grand exit to the other end of the bar.

"She's coverin' up all the good parts." Victor complained, rotating a picture as if it were supposed to give him a better view of Ororo's goods.

"This is art, Victor, not porn." Jean said. 

"There's a difference?" Victor asked. 

"Yes, Vic. Those pictures you jack off to, you know the ones with the sleazy blondes with their fingers stuck in every hole imaginable, that's porn, honey. This is tasteful art." Yuriko said.

"So… that's different from this?" Victor said.

"Yes, Vic!" Yuriko said in exasperation.

"Just wondering because either way she's still covering up all the good shit. I have a camera at my place, Ororo. If you come over, we can make _tasteful_ art together." Victor teased.

She slapped Victor on the arm, and he growled at her playfully before walking off to find Mortimer. Yuriko and Jean closed ranks around Ororo. "Okay, the men are gone. What happened?" Jean asked with sly look. 

"Yeah, spill the details. Is he good in bed?" Yuriko asked.

Ororo knew what they wanted to hear. They wanted to hear that Joaquín had ravished her, but that just wasn't what happened. "I didn't sleep with him. I barely know the man," Ororo protested.

"That may work with everyone else, but this is _us _you're talking to." Jean said.

"Nothing happened. I promise." Ororo insisted. 

It wasn't that she hadn't wanted anything to happen. It just hadn't happened. There were a few times when he had looked so deeply into her eyes that she would swear that he could see her soul. She thought he would just take her right then and there, but it didn't happen. He would always look away with a polite chuckle.

"So, you were alone and nearly naked with a hot, single guy with a hot accent and you didn't even get any? Did I mention he was hot, and single, and had a hot accent?" Yuriko said.

"Ororo, what is wrong with you, girl? You were armed with the 'cfm.' eyes and everything. What went wrong?" Jean asked.

Ororo rolled her eyes. Jean had taught her how to make the "come fuck me" eyes. Jean said it worked on guys all the time. "Is sex all you two think about?"

Jean and Yuriko looked at each other and laughed. "Yes!" They said at the same time.

"You two are hopeless, and Jean, you're a married woman." Ororo said with fake shock.

"You make it sound as if I'm handicap. I'm just married, Ororo, not dead below the waist." Jean said with a sigh.

"Well, marriage, theoretically, is a handicap, Jean. You have to be faithful to one man the rest of your life or at least until the divorce settlement comes in." Yuriko said and shuddered.

"Says who?" Jean said with a sparkle in her eye.

"Jean! You're not cheating on Scott." Ororo said. She had reasons to believe that Jean was cheating on Scott with a certain surly bartender, but it was still a shock to hear her admit it in so many words. Okay, maybe she was overreacting. Technically, Jean hadn't admitted to anything other than the deception.

"Ororo, don't act so innocent. Scott is always too busy, too tired, too something for sex. I'm not asexual. I need sex every now and again, and going solo isn't as good as the real thing." Jean said with a smirk.

"What about your vows, Jean? Don't those mean anything to you?" Ororo asked, her good mood was fading fast.

"Ororo, please. I'm not falling in love with the man, just sleeping with him. What's wrong with that?" Jean asked.

_I'll tell you what's wrong with that. There's about a million things wrong with that. _Ororo said to herself thinking about how things were between Logan and her. Jean didn't realize that sometimes emotions did come attached with the physicality of the pleasure – even if you promised yourself they wouldn't. She never intended to fall for Logan, but then again, she never expected to spend her time lying under him, his personal odalisque. 

"Anyone we know?" Yuriko asked with a Cheshire grin. 

Jean used her nail to trace the pattern on the bar, grinning sneakily. Ororo didn't want to hear it, but she stood rooted to her spot unable to leave. She had to hear it from Jean's mouth. Why did she want to punish herself? Maybe this revelation is what she needed to hear, to make her realize how futile her position was in the grand scheme of Logan's life.

"Yeah," Jean said with a slow drawl.

"Who?" Ororo found herself asking quietly despite herself. At that moment, Jean looked up at Logan who was cleaning some of the tables on the floor. "Jean, do you think that's fair to Scott or Logan?"

"Fair? You make it sound as if I'm in love with both of them. That's hardly the situation."

"Are you going to leave Scott for him?" Yuriko asked.

"God, no. That would be the stupidest thing I've ever done. Logan and I just have fun." Jean laughed. Then stopped. "Ororo, are you feeling okay? You don't look so well." Jean said with motherly concern, forgetting all about Logan at the blink of an eye. "Do you need to go home. I could call in someone else to take over your shift.

"No, I'm fine." Ororo said. "I just need to sit down a little while." Ororo left and hid herself in one of the far corners of the club and cried. 

It had only taken Jean's confession to make her feel so ashamed of the decisions she had made in her life. She wished she could go back and change it all. That first time with Logan would have never happened. She would have told him he was crazy, she would have spurned those twisted messages she was getting from him, that first time they had sex instead of letting it happen. In fact, she would have never started working at the club at all. Then, she would still believe that Scott and Jean had the perfect relationship, and she wouldn't have conflicting emotions about Logan.

 "Fuck!" She heard Yuriko yell as glass shattered on the floor. She heard Remy's voice, an indistinct lull, as he spoke to Yuriko – undoubtedly to apologize. "Why don't you get fucked, Remy!" That's exactly how she said it. It was a statement not an angered question. 

Ororo wished it was that easy to get her frustration across. She wished she could tell everyone and everything that angered her to "get fucked". She wished her problems were as simple to sweep up as the broken glass, but it wasn't. She couldn't continue to tell herself that things were going to be okay and ignore them. She had to leave, even if it was only for a while. She was sorry she couldn't turn back time and change things. She wished it was all a dream, but it wasn't. It was her reality.

A few hours later, her earlier despair was pushed to the back of her mind as she concentrated on making drinks. As usual, the drinks that contained vodka seemed to be in high demand. Yuriko was on the second floor with Logan working the other bar. She was glad for that small miracle. She didn't have to listen to Yuriko babble on and one about Jean's indiscretion, and she didn't have to look at Logan.

Joaquín sat down a couple of seats away from Ororo. He didn't say anything to her, and she didn't say anything to him.  He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Then, she saw him pick up one of the napkins with The Phoenix logo on it and turn it over. He said something to Remy, and Remy looked her way cracking a smile. Remy handed Joaquín a pen. He scribbled on the napkin, and then folded it, putting his hand over it. Casually, he slid it toward her with the pen. She took it from him. It read:

_I like you.  
Do you like me?  
Check yes or no._

Beside the choices were two little boxes. She couldn't help laughing as she drew another box and wrote the word "maybe" beside it. Then, she checked the box beside the "maybe" and slid it back toward him. He read it, and then he laughed aloud.

He picked up another napkin, wrote on it and slid it her way. This time it read:

_Will you have dinner with me  
Check yes or no.  
P.S. You can't say maybe._

She chuckled and marked the box that said "no", and then drew an arrow pointing the back of the napkin where she wrote:

_Will you let me cook dinner for you?  
Check yes or no  
P.S. I'm a really good cook._

She slid the note over to him. His face fell for a second. Then he read the rest of her message and laughed again. He looked at her and said with a teasing tone, "Yes, but only because you're a really good cook." Things were already starting to look up. He moved to the stool in front her of her and grasped her hands between his. 

*

"I'm leaving," she said to him, frankly, after she felt her voice to her.  She had been waiting to say those words the last couple of weeks, deciding it was best to just say them and get them over, letting it register in his head that she wouldn't be around to be his personal fucktoy for the rest of his life. Before that night, the words would cling desperately in her throat, suffocating her, refusing to come out. "I'm leaving and I'm never coming back."

She pulled the covers tighter around her figure. She hadn't even given them time to calm from the sex before she dropped that on him. She wanted to feel guilty about it, but she didn't. She felt relieved, like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. If she could admit that to him, she could do anything she wanted to do. And she found it funny that first the first time in a long time, his touch didn't make her mind cloud. She was more resolute than ever about her decision. What was once just a wishful whim was beginning to become a reality.

"Where ya goin'?" he asked. He didn't sound as if he particularly cared, and why should he? He seemed only to ask out of obligation rather than genuine concern.

"Away from here." _Away from you,_ she added silently to herself. The images of flamenco dresses and castanets twirled in her mind. She wished she could tell him about that dream, but she knew she couldn't. He would never understand, and if he could, she wouldn't be leaving in the first place… or would she? 

She was surprised that she had actually told him. She had promised herself that she would just break the ties without telling anyone, but she decided that this was the more practical approach. _Practical?_ She scoffed to herself. She had only told him because she wanted him to say something, to beg her to stay, but he didn't seem to be in the begging mood. He was probably more concerned with who he was going to replace her with rather than why she was leaving.

"Where?" he asked. She thought she imagined a slight urgency in his tone, but when she looked at him, he seemed complacent, unconcerned.

"The location isn't important. Far away from here." She answered.

"Are you in some kinda trouble?" She heard a little concern; she hadn't imagined it. 

Then, she decided he was more concerned with his own welfare. If he thought she was in some kind of trouble, he was probably worried that he would be connected to her "trouble" somehow. Typical. She teased the idea of letting him think that she was in trouble. That wouldn't be fair. Funny, but not fair. "I'm not in any trouble."

"Then, why are you leavin'?"

"There are so many reasons. I couldn't sum them all up." She sighed, studying her fingernails. She could feel like intense gaze on her. She was afraid to look at him, afraid that if she gazed into his eyes for even one second, all her secrets would come tumbling out. 

"Dontcha think you're being just a little rash?"

"Rash?" She laughed in spite of herself.

"Yes. You don't realize how crazy you sound, talkin' 'bout movin' out of the blue. People don't just do that," his voice was chilly but calm.

"Logan," the name sounded foreign on her tongue. "If I want to just leave this place, what's stopping me? Nobody needs me here…" She stopped herself before she could say to him, _you don't need me__._

"What about your friends, your family?"

"If you knew anything about me besides how to bring me to a screaming orgasm, you would know that I have no family. Jean is my only close friend here, and she's a big girl. She can take care of herself." She took a deep breath before she continued on. "And you surely don't need me. You can get free sex with no strings attached from anywhere."

"What's that s'pose to mean?" 

She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. "It means you don't need me either, and honestly, I don't this relationship was ever healthy for either of us. I told myself I would never let it get this far, but, even when I hated myself for it, I couldn't refuse you." She chuckled sardonically.

She didn't look at him, and he didn't say anything to her. She didn't know if it was because he was speechless or because he really didn't care. Maybe the admission was too much for him to handle. "It ain't like that," he finally said after a few moments of silence.

"Oh?" she said, finally turning her gaze to him. "What _is _it like then? Enlighten me."

More silence.

"This is gettin' too heavy for me," he muttered, gathering up his clothes. Ororo didn't protest as he rushed around the room. She thought she had scared him, but she didn't feel sorry for admitting what she had to him.

"I know about you and Jean," she said abruptly, as she watched him put on his clothes. "I didn't ask her about it. She was telling me about it at the club." She wanted to tell him how Jean had been bragging, making it seem as if he were a conquest, but in retrospect, wasn't that what she was to Logan? A conquest?

He didn't say anything, just grunted half-heartedly. She wanted to be angry at him, to say every negative thing that came to her mind about him sleeping with Jean, with her. But she had allowed this, so now she had to live with her choices.

"Do you love her?" Ororo asked. 

He stopped dressing and turned to look at her, his eyebrows furrowed. "What?" he said almost menacingly, but she didn't back down.

"Do you love her?" she asked again, enunciating every word.

"What kinda fucked up question is that?" he shot back at her, but the venom wasn't there. He seemed almost contemplative as he said it.

"Just answer the question." She demanded.

"Yes… no… I don't know." He finally said. The he looked at her intently. "Do you love what's-his-face? Juan Valdez?"

"Joaquín, his name is Joaquín. He's just a friend. I love him as I love any of my friends," she said wistfully, thinking back to how Joaquín's hands had touched her like silk when he was positioning her for the photos. Logan grunted at this answer, as if he weren't entirely satisfied with the answer, but didn't dispute it.

"Why are you really leavin'?" he asked again more tenderly, still staring at her intently.

"If I stayed, I'd never leave." Ororo didn't say anything else as she slipped from her bed and locked herself in the bathroom. She couldn't tell him that everything was starting to feel unfamiliar. Sometimes, she felt dazed by the way her life was going, not just because of him, but because of other things in her life – the divorce, the loneliness, the need to be free and spread her wings. She felt like she really didn't know her place. She wanted to get away, to think things through. Maybe she would come back. Maybe she wouldn't. She did know one thing; she needed to get away. 

How was she supposed to explain to him? Even if she did, what did she expect him to say? She didn't know what she had expected him to say when she dropped the news on him that she was leaving or that she knew about him and Jean. She guessed she expected him to say that Jean was a mistake that he really loved her. She expected him to break down, get down on his knees, beg her to stay. A part of her knew she would stay if he asked her to. Why did she still hope when there was no hope left? 

*

Author's notes: I updated. Tiger, it's your turn. You don't have me as an excuse not to update anymore. ;) Not as long as I hoped. More like a gateway chapter for what happens next, and I still have a couple of tricks yet.


	7. El Desafío

**_Chapter Seven  
El Desafío_**

            She started acting differently the night he first used the handcuffs. She seemed more pensive, subdued. Admittedly, they didn't talk much, so maybe he wasn't the foremost expert on her moods. Knowing a woman's body had nothing to do with knowing a woman's mind, but still she seemed _different_ lately. He had been with her enough to know when she was acting a little strange. Then again, someone might say the whole relationship was _strange_. 

            It was strange. It wasn't really founded on any emotion other than lust.  He didn't know how to express what happened between them in words, but he had never been good at expressing himself verbally. Honestly, he didn't think people expected him to be able to express himself. He was a brute. All muscle, no brains. Everything he needed to say could be summed up in a stare. 

            Hell, they were probably surprised he talked and didn't grunt. Though, he was known for his fair share of grunting from time to time. He was capable of complex thought, but still, it was hard to truly sum up what happened with Ororo. The only way anything about Ororo made any sense was when he thought about things from the beginning. 

            The moment he knew he had to have her was when he saw her dancing alone before the club opened while Kurt—known in most circles as DJ Nightcrawler, a German DJ infamous for his blue body paint, his freaky shit contacts, and makeshift tail—mixed a warm-up set. She was standing in front of the DJ booth, her eyes closed, her palms raised in genuflection to the sky, her body moving in unison with the beat, while the flashing lights washed over her body. The way she moved made him feel like doing something really bad.

            She didn't know he was watching her. In fact, he had just arrived and was stocking the bar when he spotted her on the second floor, dancing to a dance mix of _Song to the Siren_. "_Did I dream you dreamed about me? For you sang, touch me not, touch me not. Come back tomorrow. Oh my heart, oh my heart shies from the sorrow_," echoed throughout the club.  Her body flowed with the music, swaying sensually, invitingly. It was as if that dance was meant for him, to lure him in. And damn if it didn't work.

            Could this be the same woman he worked with day in and day out? He had never seen her look so free, so uninhibited, as she did in that moment.  She could have been someone else in another lifetime – a goddess or something. She always seemed so solemn when they worked together. It was as if she went through all the actions, but she didn't really feel them. Her mind seemed a million miles away most days. Now, to see her dancing like that, putting so much of herself into it, showed him there was a different side to her.

            He wondered what things would be like if she danced like that for him privately. Well, he knew one thing for sure, she wouldn't be dancing too damn long if they were alone. He'd have her bent over the nearest table before she could say "cha-cha-cha". He stood there captivated, gripping a bottle of crème liqueur with a death vise. He was surprised the glass bottle didn't break in his hands.

            He heard Creed snort behind him. "Dream on, runt. You'd never know what to do with a woman like that. No sense in gettin' a hard-on for her." 

            Maybe he was right. He could have went up to her right then and told her what he wanted to do to her. She could have slapped him, laughed at him, whatever. She would probably tell him to lick the pavement or something, but those thoughts didn't discourage him.

            "Why don't you mind your own goddamn business, Creed?" he shot over his shoulder, which was rewarded with only a throaty laugh from the man. Then, he made a comment that he knew would really hit home. "Just because you can't do better than that cuntface Birdie doesn't mean we all can't." That remark caused quite an uproar, but that was a story best left for another time.

            That night when Jean came to his apartment needing her "fix" he channeled that lust into their fucking, and God help him, it was Ororo he envisioned above him, gripping his shoulders, straddling his hips. And when he came, he nearly moaned her name. 

            Afterwards, he _casually_ asked Jean about Ororo while they lay in his bed.  Jean told him she met Ororo while they were in college. They were roommates who became fast friends. There they met their future husbands, Scott Summers and Lucas Bishop. Lucas and Ororo had recently divorced. It was a mutual decision, but still Ororo had felt she failed in the marriage department. 

            That feeling of failure sent her into a slump, especially when she found out her ex-husband had already started dating someone new. That's when Ororo started working at the club. Jean paused, her eyebrows pulling together. Sudden realization appeared on her face. She turned to Logan and with a chilly voice she said, "She's too good for you." Was she a fucking mind reader or what?

            "And what about you? Are you too good for me, too?" he asked coolly. He knew the answer to that question. He was her sordid secret, the forbidden bad boy who was lusted after by the good girl. She probably tittered about him behind his back with her friends. He wondered if Ororo knew.  He didn't like the idea of Jean and Ororo laughing about him behind his back.

            "It's just that you're so rough, and Ororo's so regal. You and I just have fun. She would take it too seriously, and I'd hate to see her get fucked over by you, especially when she's in such a vulnerable state."  She said, her eyes glittering a little meanly. She had a mean streak a mile wide, but she was good at hiding it.  She was nice as she could be to her friends, but there was also something cruel about Jean, especially when it came to him.

            "Yeah, yeah, yeah…" he muttered. Basically, she was telling him that he wasn't Ororo's type. She was telling him what Creed had told him. He couldn't have Ororo. Nobody told him he _couldn't have_ anything he wanted. He had wanted her, and he got her. What made Ororo any different? He wasn't asking Jean's permission to be with Ororo. He didn't need her approval.

            Jean continued. "You're not a bad person, Logan, but Ororo… she wants to find love again despite what happened between her and her ex-husband. She needs someone stable in her life, someone who's truly interested in pursuing a long-term relationship with her." She ran her hand along his bare chest, down his stomach, a diversion tactic that was working.

            So, he let the momentary infatuation with Ororo die down… or at least, he tried to.  He had tried to convince himself that Jean was right. Ororo was a burden he didn't want. She had nothing to offer him that he wasn't already getting, but that still didn't kill the curiosity.

            He'd watch her while she was preoccupied, picking out things he'd never noticed before like the way a slow smile crept across her face when she heard something amusing or the stern way she looked when she had to tell one of the younger clubbers that she couldn't sell them any alcohol. She was like one of those paintings that seemed so simple at first glance, but as you looked more, you began to see intricate, complex details. Ororo was complex, and he wanted to peel away every one of those layers.

            Then, one evening when they opened the club together, they had gotten into an argument about a fucking drink of all things. He had never seen her so angry. He'd never seen her angry at all, and he wasn't convinced that she was _that_ angry over a drink recipe. He had never heard her raise her voice above a genial tone until that night. Seeing so much emotion coming from her was stirring. 

            She stormed away, hiding herself in the storeroom.  Typical. Why was the storeroom everyone favorite hiding place? He followed. One thing led to the next, and the next thing he knew he had her up against a wall with her skirt hiked up to her waist. He never said he was a romantic. He had expected that to be the first and only time, but he craved another taste of her – just one more time. 

            She seemed innocent, yet carnal. She covered her body when she was nude; she blushed when he went down on her. But she'd respond to his every little touch and was never afraid to try something new.  He shivered thinking of the way her fingers softly caressed him, the bold way she explored his body, and how she always ran lingered in the spots that made him shudder. He loved the way she pulled his hair and bit him in frenzied moments. When he was horny, she was like a cool bottle of water. She could cure the thirst. 

            Then, he would feel guilty. He took and took from her and didn't give her anything in return except a few hours of his time and a couple of orgasms for her trouble. He knew it shouldn't be like that, that there should be more. He should give more, take less, try to get to know her. Every time he told himself that something was going to change between them, it didn't. Nothing ever changed, it seemed like as long as she was giving he was taking. 

            He didn't even talk to her while they were working together, and he saw the pain in her eyes when he would deliberately ignore her. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to her. It was just that he felt inadequate around her outside the bedroom. He felt that she would decide that he was an idiot and that she really was wasting her time with him. He didn't want her to think he was another mindless moron like Creed. He felt like if he really tried to talk to her he would say the wrong thing and she would laugh at him.

            That was piss poor excuse, but he was afraid to admit to himself that he maybe that wasn't really the reason why didn't talk to her, that maybe he didn't honestly know why he ignored her. He could see that she cared about him, and he didn't know if he cared as much as she did. He had to care a little. Right? He couldn't seem to stay away from her. And believe him, he had tried to purge himself of her. He'd try, unsuccessfully, to go weeks without seeing her, but he could never go too long without being with her. She was like an obsession that he couldn't get over. 

            She was a constant, something he frequently needed in his life. He always knew where to find her. There were no excuses about a husband, a boyfriend, anything, and she never turned him away. 

            When he officially bedded her (the storeroom didn't count in his opinion), he had expected it to be no different than being with Jean, but it was a lot different. He tried to keep up the front that she didn't affect him, that it was about getting what he wanted and nothing, but it was a bit more complicated than that. His pulse would pound until he thought his heart would explode whenever he around her.          

            But he refused to believe he actually _loved_ her. Love fucked people over. It was a prelude to pain, an excuse to get hurt. Love was such a strong word to use. Sex was clouding his judgment and he was starting to confuse himself. Maybe Jeannie was right, maybe he was playing a game he couldn't win. He hadn't meant for things to get so far. It was supposed to be a romp in the bed, and they were supposed to go their separate ways. 

            He didn't mean for emotions to get tangled in the mix, and he sure as hell didn't want to hurt her -- despite what Jean thought about him. But he couldn't promise her any kind of commitment at the moment. At least, he didn't have any plans to promise one. He wasn't looking to settle down or do anything domestic. He liked being free to do as he pleased. If he decided to leave New York that very night, he could do that without worrying about any strings. That was the way his life was supposed to be – problem free.

            Things were so complicated now, and he could only vaguely remember how things were before Ororo. Now, she said she was leaving and he had a tight feeling in his chest that he couldn't get rid of. She showed little emotion when she told him. He tried to tell himself that he didn't believe her, but he knew resolve when he heard it.  And goddamn did his chest hurt. 

            She wouldn't tell him where she was going. She had a faraway look in her eyes when she told him she was leaving. It actually didn't take a lot of work to find out where she was going. He had snooped through her drawers when she was in the bathroom and found some travel stuff about Spain. "Who moves to fucking Spain?" He asked himself aloud. He figured a broad like her would want to go back to the Mother Land or something, not Spain. Why in the hell would she want to go to Spain? One name came to his mind: Joaquín. 

            He couldn't even think about the bastard without retching. There was just something about the guy he didn't like. Maybe it was the fact that every female in a five-mile radius thought he was perfect. He was an artist, which automatically put him on some sort of pedestal by women. Women never knew what they wanted, anyway. One minute they want a tough guy, the next they want a sentimental sap like Joaquín. What could Ororo possibly see in Joaquín, anyway?

            And… and… if he didn't know any better, he'd think he was jealous of Joaquín.  _Impossible, _he snorted to himself. How could he possibly be jealous of that guy? He looked like the type who would chicken out if he ever had to defend Ororo's honor. And even if he did try to defend her, what was he going to do? Bludgeon someone to death with a paintbrush? Hardly. 

            What could Joaquín possibly be doing for her? It was obvious they weren't sleeping together. He knew. There was just something about the way two people acted together that told you whether they were getting it on or not. And in Joaquín and Ororo's case, they definitely weren't. He wouldn't say they were fooling around or getting to that point, but there had definitely been no sex. There was just something about the way people acted when they come (or didn't come) together that made things different. He didn't even want to think about the two of them… ugh, he was going to lose his lunch.

            _Calm down. Calm down._

            He had to put this in perspective. This was a good thing. He shouldn't see this as a negative thing. She could move on with her life; he could move on with his. She had this opportunity to be truly happy, and he should be happy for her. He couldn't expect her to be happy with an occasional fuck-and-go. He was just holding her down. They had to see beyond one another. They were too busy focusing on the sun that they couldn't see there was other stuff outside like the trees and shit. 

            And what kind of bright and shiny bullshit was he trying to feed himself? He sounded like a motivational speaker on crack. He had to be honest with himself. He wasn't happy with the idea of her leaving, and he was even less happy with the idea of her leaving with Joaquín. He'd rather have her stay than be happy. He may have been selfish for thinking that, but it was true. 

            Then, he was disgusted at himself. How could he let one woman bother him this much? He shouldn't be having this internal debate with himself. Not over her. Not over any woman. The way he saw it women came a dime a dozen. There were more women in the world than Ororo. He could have just about any woman he wanted, yet he worried about Ororo leaving. There were plenty of warm bodies to replace hers, including Jean. 

            Why didn't that make him feel any better? And why wouldn't his goddamn chest stop hurting? He felt like his heart was about to open up and suck his whole chest into some black hole. 

            Maybe he had heartburn…

            Or maybe he felt that way because he Ororo was leaving…

            What was the difference, anyway?

* 

**Author's notes:** Cheer up, kids. *hands her reviewers some Zoloft* And please don't hurt me, NemB. I'm trying. I swear. I know I promised two chapters, and honestly, I did write two chapters. There was a final perspective chapter from Ororo's point of view, but two things occurred to me a.) you all would have probably killed me for it and b.) I have other plans for that. For that reason, I had to revise this chapter, so it may be full of mistakes cause it's hot off the press. I'll try not to be long with the next chapter. I'm working on something new as well, but I won't unveil it until I'm satisfied with how it's going and get a beta to check it out. Song mentioned: _Song to the Siren (Did I Dream?)_


	8. El Anhelo

Chapter Eight  
El Anhelo

            It had been weeks since he had been with her. He didn't think he was avoiding her more than she was avoiding him. Oh, he was trying to stay away from her. When he got those urges to be with her, he found something more constructive to do with his time like drink beer, play pool, or start a random bar fight for no reason. Usually, all of them at one time. However, he got the feeling that she was trying harder to avoid him than he was her. If she saw him coming in her direction, she made herself scarce quick.

            Everything was all wrong. He had come to the conclusion that life would be a lot simpler if he had never met her. He should just give up on women all together. They were too fickle, far too capricious to be worth the trouble, but he knew it would be a very cold day in hell before he gave up women. Really, he only wanted to get one out of his head. He wanted to forget the way his skin blazed when she touch him, the way he stopped breathing when she looked at him. There wasn't anyone quite like her, and he couldn't even let her know that she was special. Not again. He was doing it again, seemingly putting on her a pedestal.

            What made her so special?

            _Every-fucking-thing_.

            He had spent time thinking about the "state of things" with Ororo. He knew that he cared about her. He didn't know when the lines blurred, though. He didn't know when she stopped just being a distraction. He still wouldn't let himself believe that he loved her. So what if he felt like Mary Damn Sunshine when she looked at him? It was exactly as if he was running around with this shit-eating grin because she looked at him fondly. She didn't even know how good she made him feel at times, and he didn't even have the decency to give her the respect she deserved.

            Ororo wanted more, more than he was willing to give. He knew this, had always known this. But, why wasn't he willing to give her that much? What was wrong with maybe settling down with Ororo, starting a little family with her, living out some semblance of normalcy? What was he thinking? When he really thought about, what did he really have to offer her? Nothing, nothing at all. Maybe, he was just afraid. This was a big change he was talking about. Settling down with one person, that was more than just a big change. He didn't even know if he was ready for that. No, he _knew_ he wasn't ready for that.

            He was overreacting. She wasn't asking for all that. She wasn't asking him to marry her and make a million babies. She wasn't asking him for anything really, but actions speak louder than words – to use an old cliché. Her actions spoke volumes, but he pretended not to get it.  It was just a lot easier that way. But still, she wasn't asking him for much, so why couldn't he oblige? She wasn't asking him to confess some deep, hidden love. She just wanted to be justified.

            He couldn't even speak the words she wanted to hear, but he had tried to justify her in his own way. He had branded his name with his tongue on her body, on her thighs, on her stomach, on her breasts. L-O-G-A-N – that made her his, gave her power over him – whether she knew it or not. He hadn't done that with any other woman, hadn't willingly given away his name to another. He should have known better. He should have known it had gone too far then.

            "Is there anything wrong, Logan?" Jean asked, interrupting her thoughts. She leaned against the bar, resting her chin on her hand.  She sounded as if she genuinely cared about his feelings. She didn't have to pretend for his sake. He knew he was just being spiteful. Jean could be slightly wicked, but she never pretended not to care when someone was feeling bad – not that he knew of, anyway. She could be one-dimensional, but she was sincere most of the time.

            "Ain't nothin' wrong." But everything wasn't exactly okay, either. He wasn't going to share that with Jean, though. What was he supposed to say to her? Was he supposed to tell her he was sleeping with her best friend? Was he supposed to tell her that her Ororo was leaving and it was up to her to help him make Ororo stay? Oh yeah, he could just see them sitting over a couple of beers, trying to solve his problems with Ororo. That was a real laugh. He'd be lucky if Jean didn't call him a goddamn liar when (and if) he told her that he was in fact getting it on with Ororo.

            He stared into Jean's eyes. Questioning replaced the concern in her eyes. _"Do you love her?"_ Ororo's question echoed through his head. He hadn't known how to answer that question. He believed a part of him did love Jean. What was it about her that made him gravitate to Jean? Maybe he was taking advantage of Jean in his own way, too.  Sometimes he wondered how he fell for her. Did he even fall, or was he just kidding himself? Jean had been there before Ororo. She was another man's trophy, and he had pursued Jean like no other. He had made it his mission to get her. Well, he had gotten her – sort of.

            Now, the mystery—the allure—was gone. Jean was an open book. She was the pampered wife of a boring man just looking for a little excitement. There was nothing more to learn about her. She talked about things he didn't care about, material things that amounted to nothing in his book – car payments, her new Dior dress, the stylist who did her hair. He was starting to think there was nothing dimensional about the woman at all, but still he went to her. Maybe it was habit now, the unwillingness to give that up.

            Ororo, she was still a mystery to him. It was partly his own fault. Okay, that was _all_ his fault. He hadn't wanted to know anything about her and had told her that his life was none of her business. Her surroundings didn't really tell him anything about her, not at first glance. She kept a nice place, seemed to like the finer things in life, but then he would find something out of the ordinary like a letter written by an old boyfriend, revealing intimate details, signed with unusual names like Forge or Khan, or a picture of her as a young child in the desert, or a note written in a strange language. And then, he would ask himself who was she really?

            Had he asked her, he was sure she would have revealed all those secrets to him, but did he really want to know them? Would she begin to bore him like Jean, or would it only make her want to know more about her? He didn't know. But he did know one thing – he yearned for her. And it was eating away at him to see her with someone else. _Forever destined to covet someone else's girl_, he thought to himself. But Ororo wasn't Joaquín's girl. She had been with him long before she knew Joaquín existed.

            But just because she had been with him didn't mean she was _his_ girl, either, and he had to come to terms with that. He didn't validate her feelings for him, and he couldn't think of reason why he didn't other than the fact that he might be afraid. He was afraid of what "making it official" might mean. Was he ready for that type of commitment? What if it didn't work out? What if they decided they hated each other and the only thing they really had in common was good sex? Then, he would kick himself because he should have left well enough alone.

            "Are you sure you're okay? You look troubled." Jean started in again. He glanced at her out the corner of his eye. What was Jean's deal? Didn't she know him well enough to know that he wasn't going to tell her what was wrong? He didn't like talking about his feelings; it made him feel funny like he should be on Oprah or something. He sort of liked watching Oprah, though. _Fucking hell are you thinkin'?_ He asked himself.

            "I'm okay. I just need a break," he said, walking away from Jean. He didn't like Jean prying. Good intentions or not, he didn't like it. He needed time to think; he needed to talk to Ororo. Maybe, if he could get some of what he was thinking across, they could at least come to some sort of stalemate.

            He watched her all night, waiting for his opportunity. Finally, he cornered her in the hallway leading to the restrooms. He stood in front of her, blocking her way back. She didn't say anything, but held up her chin defiantly. "We need to talk," he said simply.

            "We have nothing to talk about," she said, trying to sidestep him. He shifted with her, denying her escape. She tried to pass him again, and this time he forced her back into a corner. She glared at him. "What are you doing? This is childish, very childish."

            "We have plenty to talk about." He didn't really know what he was going to say to her. He just had to talk to her, to distract her somehow. She rarely looked at him these days, and when she did, her eyes no longer held that desire for him. Instead, she looked at him as if he was just part of the scenery. He just wanted her to see him. Was this how she felt all those times she would stare at him longingly and he would ignore her? How had she been able to endure the ache? He was surprised she hadn't cracked him over the head with a bottle.

            She crossed her arms across her chest protectively. "So talk," she demanded, coolly. She wasn't going to make this easy for him, and did he blame her? Was he supposed to tell her he craved her? Was he supposed to tell her that he cared? He didn't want her to think that he was just using her for personal gratification.

            He gripped her arms, tugging at them gently. "Don't be like that," he said, and he would've sworn he heard something similar to pleading in his voice.  She refused to uncross her arms, and he dropped his hands to his side, mentally debating to himself. _Say it. Don't say it. Say it. Don't say. Say it. Say it. Say it.  Just _fucking_ say it, you bastard._ "Please, don't go," but the words came out an indistinctive garble of words – 'pleezedungo'. He didn't even look at her when he said it.

            "What did you say?"

            That wasn't a question. That was a challenge. She was going to make him say it again, and he had even said please. He never said please, and she was going to make him say it again. He looked her fully in the face this time, moving his face closer to hers. "I said, _please_, don't go, goddamnit. I don't want you to leave." Every word came out plainly.

            She uncrossed her arms, an eyebrow slowly ascending. "Why do you want me to stay?" He didn't know. Or maybe he did know, and he didn't want to say it. He shook his head, unable to articulate the things that were running through his head. Their lips were only mere inches apart. "I'm tired of having nothing but my tears and my regrets to comfort. I've found someone who appreciates me, who doesn't try to hide me like a dirty little secret. Can't you understand that, Logan? So, why should I stay?" She said, her warm breath burning his skin.

            He stared at Ororo. Why did he want her to stay? Because he had everything she needed. Because he was selfish. Because maybe he cared about her more than a little bit.  Oh hell, because… he didn't know. "Because I want you," his lips smothered hers. She resisted at first. Then, she melted into him. He felt her need, a need that transcended the physical, and he hoped that she could feel the greatness of his own. He needed her whether she believed it or not. He didn't just need her body.

            She put a hand against his chest and pushed him back. "Logan, people are looking," she whispered, breathlessly.

            She knew as well as he did that he could have easily ripped the flimsy shirt she had on away from her body, snatched the pants off, snapped her underwear with one tug, and taken her right there, and those people wouldn't even flinch. They wouldn't care. They would act as if they didn't see. He knew; he was guilty of pretending not to see the carnal acts that went on in that place. Nothing was sacred anymore, least of all sex. But he wasn't trying to be a showoff, but he wanted her to know that he didn't care who saw. He thought that was what she wanted.

            "Let 'em." He answered. Maybe she was afraid of Joaquín seeing them in that situation. She claimed to care for the guy, and she probably didn't want to hurt him. But if Joaquín really cared for Ororo, he would be a man and stand up to Logan if he caught them. That's what he would do if rolls were reversed. If Joaquín could just stand there and watch another man move into his territory, then he didn't deserve Ororo. And despite Ororo's protests, he still believed that Ororo cared for him more than she ever world Joaquín.

            If she really wanted him to stop, she could make him. He would try not to give her the opportunity, but she could make him stop. "I don't –" She started, and he shushed her with another kiss. His fingers skated over her clothed stomach to, the contours of her breasts, the curve of her neck and back again.

            "Tell me what you want." His fingers slipped under her shirt and traced unknown words, words that would never grace another woman's skin, onto the smoothness of her stomach.

            "Oh Goddess, Logan, you already know what I want. I want you to tell me what you want. _I want to know you_." She said.

            He planted his hands firmly on her waist and pulled her close into an embrace, savoring the feel of warm skin against warm skin. He concentrated on their shallow breathing, burying his nose in her neck, memorizing that smell. He could feel her heart beating hard against his chest… or was that his own heart? Her skin was hot to touch. He stroked a stand of her hair between his fingers, burying his face in her neck.

            "Logan?" Fear and expectation lined her voice. He didn't respond as he took in her smell. It was a pleasant smell, almost motherly. It reminded him of some type of flower. He probably could pick her out of a crowd with his eyes closed. Her smell conjured up images of protection, love, and… Where were those feelings coming from? What had she done to him? It was as if her essence was overtaking him.

            He breathed deeper, trailing her spine from the small of her back to her neck with his fingers. "'Ro…" he said under his breath, kissing her jawline. He felt the muscles in her jaw clench under his lips and she stiffened against him. He pulled back, studying the dark change that shadowed her face. What had he done?

            When she opened her eyes, he saw a look of vehemence he'd never seen in her eyes before. "Don't call me that." She said. The chill factor in her voice seemed to make the temperature in the room drop ten degrees. "Don't you ever call me that again."

            She pushed past him, roughly. He let out a frustrated growl and punched the wall until his knuckles throbbed, startling a few of the clubbers standing nearby. He wasn't quite sure that he understood what just happened. One minute she was hot and the next she was cold again. He was beginning to despite this constant hot-cold game she was playing with him.

            Once again, he had tried to show her instead of tell her what he felt. She had seemed to understand at first. He had felt her soften to him, but then she just went cold. He knew she wanted him to tell her what he felt. She said she wanted to know him. She didn't really want to know him; she could never truly grasp who he really was. She didn't really want to know about the nightmares that haunted, the fear of the stagnant, his belief that maybe—just maybe—he was meant to live this life alone. She would never understand him, the way his mind works, the moments when he felt as if he wasn't anything more than an animal pretending to be a man.

            She didn't know about the demons he fought everyday. He didn't think she would want to know. He didn't really want her to know. He was saving her from him. Maybe she would understand. He didn't want to write her off, but in his experience, not many people understood. He didn't think it was the effort to try to tell her either. Besides, women like Ororo didn't end up with me like him, anyway. They ended up with men like Joaquín, men who could provide her with the stability she needed in her life.

            Fuck that, and fuck her. He didn't need her.

**Author's notes:** Sorry about the long wait. Between school and work, it's hard to write more than a few minutes at a time. I know I got all gooey in this chapter; I couldn't seem to help it. Too much Nina Simone. ;) Thanks for all the nice emails and messages. May have to bring all writing on chaptered stories to a standstill until I finish my entry for "101 Nights of Porn". Maybe not since I'm already a slow updater. Don't worry, you've all tainted me so much that my entry must be RoLo. :) Oh boy! That Oprah thing was inspired by someone I know. He likes smoking Virginia Slims, but he won't smoke them unless just the girls are around. He smokes Marlboro Lights around our guy friends. His exact words were, "I'll never fucking live this down if they find out I really like Virginia Slims." Special thanks to my SLS (Sassy Lil Scorpio)! There is life after The Rock. Thanks to McNasty, you spin me right round, baby! Have my babies! Thanks Delia for driving me insane the whole time I wrote this. And thanks to Sparkle because she tolerates this weird obsession I have with old school Limp Bizkit (OMGTEHEVIL!111!!one!!!eleventwelve!). Break stuff, baby! And once again, thanks to everyone who has reviewed. glomp I love you guys. Longest A/N I've written in a while. – Tempest, who really should make a schedule to write.


	9. El Psicológico

**_Chapter Nine  
El Psicológico_**

It was going to be one of _those_ days; he knew it the minute he opened his eyes. It was one of those days when he felt like just taking off on his bike and starting all over in a different city. It would be a lot easier considering the current state of things. He was screwing a married broad, and the other broad he was screwing was messing with his head. If he just left, he could put this all behind him. To hell with them. Who needed either one of them, especially Ororo?

So, why wasn't he making tracks already? What was the holdup? Why was he still munching on soggy cereal instead of hauling ass? All he had to do was throw some stuff in a bag. Forget the rest of that worthless crap in his apartment. He could buy more stuff once he was settled wherever he went. How was he supposed to show his face at the club, anyway? How was he supposed to look Ororo in the eye after she basically rejected him? He didn't want to admit how much that burned, but the thought of her not caring if he showed up at the club burned worse. Why did he even give a fuck?

Oh, he cared. He didn't want to, but he did. And it sickened him. All this time, he thought he was in total control of what was going on. He was obviously not in control anymore – if he ever had been in the first place. Maybe she was the one who was really in control this whole time. Sure, he liked to think that he had a lot of control over what happened between them, but look at the way she tossed him aside like yesterday's newspaper.

Okay, he would admit he was a little down about the whole situation, but he hid it behind his usual surly demeanor. Men shouldn't let the world know when they were down about women – not if they were _real_ men. And he wouldn't let her see that she was getting to him. It would be like a slap in the face if he did.

He only handcuffed her physically; she handcuffed him mentally. He didn't like the constant back and forth, the constant hot and cold. It was annoying as hell, and if he wanted something that confusing in his life, he'd take up something ridiculous like astrophysics. She was the reason for all this turmoil. She lured him; she cast him away. She made life more complicated than it should be. So, why this one? God, of all the women in the world, _why couldn't he let this one go_?

And it just killed him to think about her with that bastard. Now, he was the one who was jealous. Maybe, she really liked the guy, and maybe, he was going to lose his lunch at the thought. He didn't want to see her wasting her time with someone like Joaquín, but he felt that he had nothing offer her. Why should he be concerned about her? He couldn't help it. Fuck her for making him feel like that.

Why didn't she just peel his psychological band-aid slower?

He decided he might be a little obsessive. Even after she rejected him at the club, even after he told himself she was just one of many, he went to her house. He was going to talk some sense into her. That's what he told himself, anyway. She didn't want to be with him. Fine. She didn't have to uproot her whole life because of this. If she didn't want him to ever speak to her again, he wouldn't. It was simple as that.

However, when he got to her place, she was dancing. She wasn't being secretive with it either. She was in the living room. Her shades were up, and she was dancing up a storm. He guessed she didn't care who saw her; her neighbors probably thought she was having some kind of attack.

"_I love myself today, not like yesterday. I'm cool. I'm calm. I'm gonna be okay. Uh-huh. I love myself today, not like yesterday. Take another look at me now. Cause it's your last look, your last look forever_." He heard her yelling with the music while she danced wildly. It was like some weird ritualistic dance of closure, and he couldn't disrupt that.

So, he left. He didn't want to admit that it might've been because he was scared. He wasn't scared of anyone, least of all her. He got up from his seat at the kitchen table and dumped his half-eaten cereal. He had a meeting to go to, and he would look her in the damn eye without any regret.

They arrived a few hours before the club opened. Logan expected the meeting to be about work morale or something. Jean usually called them all together to give them a pep talk, she liked doing that type of thing, but it wasn't about work ethic. This was far more serious in nature – in his opinion.

Jean walked around handing them bright pieces of paper. Day-glo green, the kind of color that could leave you permanently blind if you looked too long. After his eyesight came back him, he read the flier. At the top of the flier, the words "The Phoenix Presents" stared back at him boldly. He could have ripped his hair out when he realized what it was.

"Not another one of these," he grumbled under his breath. It was already time for another one. _Already?_ He hated those things, hated them with every ounce of breath he had in his body. He didn't even read any further.

"What was that, Logan?" Jean said, a sickly-sweet smile plastered on her face.

"Nothin'." He answered. Jean liked to host "themed parties". She said they were fun. Logan thought they were acts of cruelty against mankind, sick shit that should be legally banned. He still refused to read any further. He was almost afraid of what this month's theme was going to be. He could almost see the words "On the Farm" jumping up at him. He was not dressing up like Farmer-Fucking-Brown. That's where he was going to draw the line.

Two months ago, it was "Disco Fever". Jean had to physically force him to wear a fake afro and a vintage fringe vest. Victor had come to work in some sort of Shaft getup, Jean and Ororo had dressed alike with their fringed hair, mini-skirts, and platforms. He saw so many polyester suits, glittery bodies, and flashy shirts that he had a headache for days after.

The guest DJ had played _Crying at the Discothèque, Bring Me the Disco King _(that wasn't even a 70's song) and _I Will Survive_ so many times that Logan had contemplated putting a broken bottle to his wrist. In fact, he still heard, "_I saw you crying at the discothèque. The DJ takes you high. Let tears of joy baptize the crowd…_" in his nightmares. That event made him a firm believer that the 70's should stay in the 70's.

Last month, it was "Angels and Demons", which had been a vast improvement over "Disco Fever". Kurt had dressed up as some demon priest hybrid that had been popular with the crowd. Two of Jean's friends—Warren and Emma—dressed up as angels and danced in the cages surrounding the DJ booth. When he asked Jean what they were supposed to be, she said something about caged angels. His reaction: What the hell?

He spent the rest of the night looking at weirdoes dressed up like demons, angels, priests, nuns, witches, elves, motherfucking fairies while he wondered what half of those things had to do with the theme. It was a damn free-for-all.

These parties brought a big crowd, though, which meant lots of tips. The club was usually packed to capacity the minute the doors opened, and you couldn't get in on those nights unless you were dressed in costume. Logan didn't understand the appeal behind dressing up like an asshole. Apparently, he was the only one. He remembered one clubber said it was like Halloween for grown folks.

He finally let his eyes slip past the header, past the preamble she always put on those fliers, and to the actual theme itself. Well, it wasn't "On the Farm". Big relief. This one was really going to bring out the freaks, though. The theme was "Heroes and Villains". The club goers were going to eat that one up.

"Participation is mandatory, and could we please keep the griping to a minimum this time?" Jean trilled over his thoughts. He looked up and everyone was looking straight at him, even the damn new kid who hadn't been there long enough to know what kind of torture this was.

"What?" he shrugged. He complained, but he participated most of the time. Begrudgingly, but he did participate. Okay, it was only because Jean made him. They were stupid, and he couldn't believe he let her force him into participating. He didn't complain that much. Did he?

After that, things just went downhill, he left his apartment key and couldn't find the damn super. He ended up literally having to rip the door off the hinges and leaving it that way. Good thing he didn't have shit worth stealing, but the super was going to piss a baby when he saw it. Someone stole the plates off his bike. Who the hell steals license plates? The phone company turned off his phone. Did he remember to pay them? Why the hell was his goddamn bill so high anyway?

All this in the little time he had between the meeting and work. He should've known all these signs were leading up to something; and that something wasn't going to be very good. It was worse than he expected. He was preparing for the night crowd when he heard Jean giggle. He looked up to see her and _him_ together, hand in hand like a loving couple. "Slim!" Ororo said, rushing from behind the bar to greet the Scott. Scott opened his arms wide and hugged Ororo. He didn't know how she tolerated him.

Shit, he knew it was going to be a bad day, but he didn't think it was going to be _that_ bad. He knew he had done many shady things in his life, but what did he ever do to deserve putting up with Scott's shit—even for one night? He knew Scott was Jean's husband, but some people just be allowed to step foot in that club. _Ever_. He was a firm believer that Scott was one of those people.

Scott always waltzed into the club wearing his slacks with a razor sharp crease and his crisp white Polo shirt that looked as if it would crunch under your fingers. He flashed that too perfect smile that betrayed a hint of haughtiness and looked at you over the top of those ridiculous ruby-tinted glasses he always wore. He had little interest in the club, but when he did _grace_ them with his presence, he was always demanding they do things differently, as if he really had any idea how a club should be ran.

Jean said that Scott was just used to being in charge of things and that they could humor him on the rare occasions he came to the club. Logan was convinced the man was on a massive power trip, and he would be more than happy to show Scott that he wasn't too good to tote a good, old-fashion ass kicking.

Scott walked over to the bar, deliberately taking a seat in front of him. Of all the places to sit, it figures he would sit in the seat right in front of Logan. Logan didn't like the way Scott was studying him, as if he had some burning secret he was waiting to get out. He made it his business to polish shot glasses while Scott bore a whole in his head with his eyes. God how he wanted to knock those ridiculous sunglasses from his face. Did there look like there was sunlight in the club?

"Hello, _Logan_," he heard Scott say to him, as if he were only an afterthought. That was another thing he disliked about Scott – his ability to say his name like a cobra spitting venom. He clenched his fists tightly against the bar, refusing to give Scott the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. Logan barely looked at Scott as he acknowledged the man with a terse nod.

"Hey Killer," Scott said to Victor when he approached them. Victor paused in mid-stride and didn't say anything as he glared down at Scott. Scott was always calling Victor "Killer". Logan didn't know if he did it because he was trying to be funny or taking a sneaky jab at Victor. It was probably a combination of both knowing Scott. Scott chuckled nervously as Victor continued to stare him down. Finally, Scott excused himself. It was about time he got the picture.

"Dipshit," he heard Victor say behind Scott's back.

"First smart thing you've ever said." Logan said.

"Know somethin', runt? Scott's the only person in the world I hate more than you. I'd much rather break his fuckin' face before yours."

"Feelin's mutual."

Then, Victor left again, but Logan could tell by the smirk on his face that he was up to no good. He was probably going to scare Scott shitless. Jean wouldn't be happy, but it would almost be worth being yelled at to scare Scott. While he contemplated that, Ororo whispered by him and he caught her scent, the one that made him feel protected. How was he going to survive without that? He just wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her that he needed her, that she needed him, that they needed each other.

Goddammit, shit was getting ridiculous. He was getting all mushy over her.

Ororo was all wrong for him. He knew that. He shouldn't be pining away over her. It wasn't like he couldn't get women. He seemed to attract wannabe bad girls. They were really mostly just middle class women who wanted to be with a bad boy. Their boring lives just didn't thrill them, anymore. He still remembered this one woman trying to impress him by saying she just got a tattoo on her thigh. That made her "so bad". How pathetic was that?

He had been content with that at one time, though – as sad as that may sound. He didn't really care about any of them, so he could care less what they were into as long as they offered a warm body. Needed to get laid. No problem. One of his many adoring "bad girls" was always more than willing to give it up. Most times, he couldn't place the name to the face the next day, and there sure as hell was no strings attached (at least not any on his part).

So, he had these feelings for Ororo. She was a hell of a woman, but she was sick of the way he treated her. He was cool with that. He wouldn't put up with his shit either if he was a woman. He wasn't cool with who she was dating, but she was an adult she could make her own decisions. No matter how much he wanted to tell her they were wrong for her. What right did he have to tell someone a person was "wrong" for them?

So, he couldn't have Ororo. Fine. He probably didn't deserve her anyway. He only ran away the people that were close to him, or they hated him like his own parents.

He should be satisfied with bartending and having the ability to get a girl every now and again. But Ororo was making everything more complex than it needed to be. So he cared about her, and he always knew she cared for him somewhat. He could see it in her eyes. He knew he was infuriating, didn't appreciate the hand God dealt him. Maybe, he was just using her as a means of licking his wounds because of all that was going on with Jean.

He did know one thing: things were confusing for her as well. He could tell from the way she was acting. He felt better knowing that at least. The only question left to ask was, what happens now?

- - -

Song mentioned: _I Love Myself Today_ by Bif Naked


	10. La Sorpresa

**_Chapter Ten  
La Sorpresa  
  
_**

Jean was babbling at him, again. For the past couple of days, that's all she'd been doing. She would try to talk to him, and she would stutter around her words like a scared child. Usually, she would be fluttering around making sure things were perfect for her little party. But after their initial meeting about it, she didn't show much interest in it.

In fact, Ororo had been doing much of the planning in Jean's place. She gracefully took over while Jean would brood. Jean didn't usually mope over anything for too long, especially not when she had a party to plan. Something wasn't right, but he didn't know what. There was just a vibe he got every time Jean was around that sort of freaked him out.

She called him up, said they needed to talk. She wanted him to meet her at _Luchesi's_, an Italian restaurant. He mentally began to go over excuses why he couldn't meet with her, but then, she had to add the clincher. She said it was important, and her voice wavered as if she were about to cry. From the tone she used, he didn't doubt for one moment that it was important.

He made himself presentable and met her at the restaurant. She looked like she had sounded on the phone, a mess. Bloodshot eyes greeted him when he sat at the table. She battled the wrinkles in her shirt, trying in vain to smooth them. He wasn't used to seeing Jean like this. She was always so immaculate. Even after sex, she would run to the bathroom to comb her hair.

A server came to their table and took their drink order. Jean barely spoke above a whisper, as she ordered a water. She was usually more vocal than that. Jean laughed and talked loudly. She often joked that the club made her boisterous. Logan looked at Jean expectantly. He should've known she wouldn't just come out and tell him whatever it was she wanted him to know. There were preliminaries with Jean.

At first, the conversation was light, but strained. She talked about the club, the party, the dress she saw at Saks. Her sentences trailed here and there, and Logan was anxious for her to tell him whatever she had to say. She continued to fumble around her words for a while, trying to salvage her ragged appearance in the process.

While she continued to babble, he thought about possibly things she would say. Maybe she would tell him that Scott found out about them. Maybe Scott was cheating on her. Or maybe Scott knew about them and was cheating on her as some sort of bitter revenge. Or maybe… he watched too much daytime television.

"You never think about the consequences of your actions until a problem is staring you in the face. Sure, there's a little voice in the back of your head that tells you things could go wrong, but who really listens to that voice?" She finally said, and Logan stopped thinking about betrayal and revenge long enough to stare at her questioningly.

"What the hell are you talkin' 'bout?" Logan asked, slightly annoyed with all Jean's rambling. What was this shit about not thinking about the consequences of your actions? He wished she would just get to the point. Women.

"Logan, I'm pregnant," she said, covering her face with her hands when she finally got the words out.

_Oh, shit._

She couldn't get straighter to the point than that. "Why are you tellin' me this?" he asked. He was well aware why she was telling him. He didn't know why he asked such a stupid question. He hoped above all else that she wasn't going to say what he thought she was going to say. Because if she was, he was going to need a stiff drink after this one.

"Because it's yours," she sighed. What happened to the 'might' that should have been in there?

"No the hell it ain't," he said louder than he intended. He didn't mean to say that. Well, he had, but he knew how it sounded. It wasn't exactly polite to tell a woman you've been sleeping with that the kid she was carrying wasn't yours. A couple of the patrons in the restaurant gave him disapproving stares, which he returned with a hateful glare of his own and added, "There's nothin' to see here. Quit starin'."

Their server approached their table with their drink. Water for Jean. Tea for him. He was going to need something much stronger than just that tea. Maybe he could get the waiter to slip something in it. "Are you ready to place your orders?" the server asked.

Logan looked up at the man, frowning at him. Didn't that asshole see they needed some time alone? "No, come back later," he said brusquely. The man nodded and walked off.

"Don't turn into a bastard on me, now. This is just as much your fault as it is mine." Jean continued once they were alone again. He wasn't trying to imply that she was the reason this happened, but she was married. It was a good chance it could be Scott's baby.

"If it's mine, you mean. Did you forget about Scott?" he said. Then, he felt like a jerk for saying that, even if it was the truth. Jean winced and looked down at her hands. There was more. He could tell from the guilty look she had on her face. He needed that drink right now.

"It _is_ yours, Logan. Scott's been working so much these past few months that he's been too–"

"_Don't_. Don't say that. God, don't do this to me." He said, cutting her off. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. She really wanted him to believe that she hadn't slept with Scott in months. This wasn't going so well. He propped his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands.

"If it's any consolation to you, Logan, I didn't get pregnant on purpose, neither did I get pregnant alone." She said nastily.

The server walked to their table again, a smile painted on his face. "Ready to order now?"

"Can't you fuckin' see we want to be alone?" Logan yelled at the man. All eyes in the restaurant turned to him, but he didn't give a damn about their disapproving stares. "Come back later!"

"Wait." Jean told the man before he scurried away. "We'll have the herb ricotta gnocchi." The man nodded, sighing with relief before nearly running away from their table.

"I can order my own food," he grumbled. He didn't even know if he wanted to eat. His stomach was twisting and turning, as things began to really settle in. He felt almost sick in fact.

"You're going to get us kicked out of here with your outbursts." She said.

"A crowded restaurant ain't exactly the ideal place to tell your man on the side you're havin' his kid." He snapped.

Why had she asked him to come here? This was the type of place you told your husband the shit he just told her. This was a place where you took your husband to celebrate that event. You didn't call tell your lover those types of things in a place like this, especially if you were only having fun with that person. _You could have told me this over the phone_, he said silently. Oh hell, he said that aloud, didn't he?

Her green eyes started to water over. He leaned back in his chair. Should he try to be a little more understanding? This couldn't be easy for her. She was pregnant, and it wasn't her husband's baby. "Who else knows about this?" he asked, hoping she wouldn't say she told Ororo.

"Nobody. I wanted to tell you first," she said quickly. A little too quickly, but he didn't have any reason to believe she was lying about that.

God, was this week going to get any better? He fucked up with Ororo, and now, Jean was pregnant. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He didn't think he could handle anything else without exploding.

His mouth parched, and no matter how much of the tea he drank, he couldn't quench that dry taste in his mouth. It was a long time since he'd been really scared of anything, but he was scared now. "Get rid of it," he said quietly.

"What?" Jean asked, her eyes going wide.

"Jean, this ain't gonna do nothin' but cause a lot of heartache and grief. Get rid of it." He pleaded. He reached across the table and held her hand. He wanted her to see that he was sincere. He wasn't just saying it because he was scared. Hell yeah, he was scared. His fear was talking, but it would be better off this way.

He always thought he would get some sense of triumph when Scott found out his wife was cheating on him. He didn't want him to find out like this. He didn't want to add an innocent to the mix, and he didn't want to weigh Scott down with the fact that his wife not only cheated on him, but was also carrying his baby.

People could think what they wanted about him. Ororo could hate him. Yuriko could talk him into the ground. Victor and Mort could laugh at him behind his back. He wasn't an angel and never claimed to be, but a child had no business being caught up in their sins. But this child didn't ask to be conceived either, didn't have a voice a matter, and now, he was asking her to get rid of it.

"I'll pay for it. I'll even go with you if you want me to," he was choking on his own words, his own warring emotions. Should he ask this of her? Was it his place to ask this of her?

"No, Logan. I want to have this baby." She said firmly.

He was relieved and let down at the same time. If she didn't want to have an abortion, he wouldn't push the issue. She had to know this wasn't going to be easy, though. "What are you goin' to tell Scott?" he asked.

"I don't know," she shrugged dejectedly, slumping slightly in her chair. Scott was a huge factor, as big as the baby was. They sat in their respective silence, riddled with their respective thoughts. They still didn't speak when their food arrived. Logan couldn't taste a thing, but that persistent dryness in his mouth.

He couldn't quite grasp the fact that he was going to be somebody's father. Somebody was going to have his hair or his eyes or his nose or a number of his other features. Somebody was going to look to him for protection. Somebody was going to depend on him to be there for her or him. And that scared the hell out of him.

"Jean? Logan?" a female voice said behind him.

_Double shit.___

Jean looked over his head, smiling weakly at the person the voice belonged to. He took a deep breath and turned to face her. Ororo was standing there with Joaquín as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Their fingers were locked together, and there was a hint of a smudged lipstick stain on Joaquín's cheek.

She was smiling so hard that he was sure her cheeks were going to freeze in that position. Her eyes were alive with feeling that she never shared with him. She was beating him down with her happiness, wearing him out, killing him on the inside. And maybe he deserved it for treating her like shit when he was "with" her.

"Hey you two." Jean said, her mood improving slightly. Logan didn't know if she was really glad to see Ororo or if she was putting on an act for Ororo's sake. Logan nodded at them, turning his eyes away from them. It hurt. God, it hurt. He just wanted them to find a table, preferably where he couldn't look at them. "Join us."

He glared at Jean, and she looked back at him with a look that said, "What?" He hoped they would decline, say something like they wanted to be alone. No such luck. They pulled up two chairs and started looking over the menu. He couldn't handle this. Not now. He had a kid on the way and Ororo was ripping his heart out of his chest.

"Where are my manners?" Ororo said. She waved a hand toward Logan as if he was as insignificant as a speck of dust. "Joaquín, this is Logan, a guy I work with. Logan, Joaquín. And you already know Jean."

He couldn't even respond at first, taken aback by her chilly introduction. He was just "a guy she worked with". Not a friend. Not an acquaintance. Not even her goddamn enemy. Just some guy she worked with.

"Nice to meet you, Logan." Joaquín said with a smile. Was this guy serious? Didn't he know he was the enemy? No, he didn't know he was the enemy. Ororo could have told him about them, but he doubted that.

"Yeah." Logan said. That was the best thing he could think of to say besides "go fuck yourself".

"And how is Scott?" Joaquín asked Jean. Jean reddened slightly, as if she had been caught in some kind of lie.

"Yes, how is Scott?" Ororo echoed with just a hint of hostility in her voice. Ororo plastered a tight smile on her face. Logan knew Ororo thought they were there on a date, and he couldn't tell her otherwise. He couldn't tell her there was a lot more going on than she thought.

"Scott's fine. He's been working so much these days…" she trailed off.

It sounded like a half-pathetic attempt to justify herself, and Logan found himself getting angry with Ororo. Couldn't she tell from that Jean wasn't exactly feeling okay? He felt like pulling her to the side and telling her that Jean was pregnant, that she shouldn't be so hard on her right now. He couldn't do that either because then Jean and the asshole would be suspicious. He sighed. This coming from the guy who just told her to get rid of the baby.

The rest of dinner was a torture session. Ororo and her sly comments that cut like sharp glass. Jean and her defeated silence that was almost tangible. Joaquín and his too joyful attitude that made Logan want to retch. Logan hated how he was constantly laughing, how he constantly had to touch Ororo, how he just wouldn't shut up.

He really, really hated Joaquín. He was the only person he could direct all his hate at without feeling like a jerk. He couldn't hate Jean. She was going to be the mother of his child. And he couldn't hate Ororo because… _Because?_ He asked himself silently. Because she was the woman he loved.

Love. That was an unfamiliar word – even thinking it made him shift a little uncomfortably in his chair. Even if he did work up the courage to tell her that he loved her, how did he expect to deal with the fact he got her best friend pregnant. Yeah, he could just see himself 'Ororo, I love you, and I'm having a baby with Jean. Now, shut the hell up and kiss me.' If that didn't get him slapped down, she was more than just a damn good woman.

Their eyes locked one time over the table. She didn't shift her gaze quickly like she usually did when their eyes met. She held his eyes for a moment, and he thought he saw anger, sadness, regret reflecting on her brown eyes. He should have just blurted out everything right there in front of Jean and what's-his-name. He didn't, though. Instead, he was the one who turned his eyes from her. Fucking coward.

Eventually, Jean did ask for the check. Logan insisted on paying, even left the server a big tip for putting up with his crap. He barely mumbled goodbye to Ororo, as he tried to get out of the restaurant as quickly as possible. "Thank God," he muttered under his breath once they were outside. He would have kissed the pavement if Jean hadn't been looking at him as if he were out of his mind.

"Am I missing something?" Jean asked. She had a perplexed look on her face.

_You're missing a whole helluva lot._ "What are you talkin' about?"

"I was hoping you could tell me, Logan. What's really going on?" Jean said.

He just shook his head at her. He wouldn't even know where to begin if he did tell her everything that was going on. He didn't even want to discuss that subject with her.

"There was just so much tension there. Joaquín was obviously the only truly enjoying himself." Jean continued. She was prying now. She believed she was clever, and that her obvious attempts at trying to get information out of him didn't sound like a snoop. He didn't have the heart to tell her how wrong she was.

"She is friends with your husband. She obviously felt you were betrayin' him by bein' there with me." He tried to keep his answer as neutral as possible. He didn't need her asking if he talked to Ororo about what was going on between them.

"That's not all, though, is it?"

"We'll talk about this some other time, okay. We have more important stuff to worry about." Like what the hell they were going to tell Scott. He still couldn't believe he was going to be a father.

- - -

**Author's Notes:** Lullaby87, just as long as you promise to have him home before curfew. That's if all ends well. ;) And thanks Steph and Nick for your opinions and input. I really appreciate it.


	11. La Conversación

**_Chapter Eleven  
La Conversación_**

This was a dream. He would wake up and things would be the way they were before Jean got pregnant, before Ororo decided to leave.

When he opened his eyes, things would be the way they were before everything got complicated. Then, he'd laugh, smoke a cigar, and make things right with Ororo and Jean. He'd tell Jean that she needed to be faithful to her husband, and he would tell Ororo that he wanted to explore something with her.

_Yeah, just a dream._

Logan opened his eyes and grunted in frustration. Nothing changed. Not that he'd really expected it to. He was just trying to make a bad situation seem better somehow, and it hadn't worked. He was still at the club, not in his bed waking from a horrible dream. And he was still dressed in the uncomfortably tight pleather suit Jean somehow talked him into wearing, a suit that made him sweat in all the wrong places. She sported a similar suit while babbling about them being superheroes. She said she could move things with mind.

He humored her, though. He felt obligated to. He eyed her still-thin form in the tight suit, his eyes resting on her stomach. "What's my power? Metal claws? A healing ability? Animal senses?" he asked, trying to keep a straight face. He didn't feel like a complete idiot, though. He wasn't the only employee Jean talked into wearing that God-awful outfit.

Yuriko and that new kid, Remy, were wearing similar getups. Kurt was running around the club dressed in some flamboyant outfit saying something about "Ze Amazing Nightcrawler" and teleportation skills. Mort let Kurt talk him into painting himself green and calling himself "Toad". Dumbass, but he did look like a toad, though. And Logan wondered just how many cows Creed had killed to make that brown outfit he was wearing.

He'd already seen some interesting _characters_. He saw some kid in a tin suit calling himself Colossus. Another woman, painted the same color as Kurt and very naked under all that paint, with dark red hair was claiming to be a shape-shifter. He told her to turn into him, so he could go home. A woman dressed as a werewolf or something called herself Wolfsbane. A big green guy – the Hulk. They even had a guy dressed in a bat suit demanding to be called Batman. Batman, what a silly name for a superhero.

He was actually having a better time than he thought he would. Listening to some of the outrageous stories some of the people told, noting the obvious care they took to make their costumes, was actually more interesting than he was willing to let on. He would never tell Jean that. Four of her favorite words were 'I told you so'. The only person he hadn't seen was Ororo, and she was supposed to be there already.

Then, he saw her parting the sea of dancers on the fringes of the crowd. The tin man—Colossus, or whatever he called himself—grabbed Ororo in his large arms, swinging her around as she beat on his chest. Then, he put her down gingerly with a somewhat embarrassed look. She made her way behind the bar, unbuttoning her coat. Earrings in the shape of lightning glinted in her ears.

She was wearing a suit similar to the rest of the bartenders, except for a few alterations. Her suit wasn't actually a suit really. It was more like a cropped shirt that exposed the space beneath her breasts to the bottom of her bellybutton and a pair of low slung, pleather pants with a cape as an added bonus. Yet, she managed to make it appear demure.

"And who are you s'pose to be?" he asked when she took her place alongside him.

"I am Storm, mistress of the elements," she said with a silly smile, putting her hands on her hips in a commanding stance. Then, she laughed a little. She looked around the club. "I don't think I have ever seen the crowd be so creative." Her eyes followed a woman who had fake fur placed in strategic locations on her body. She sported a pair of paws and a long cattail. "Glad I didn't come as a cat woman as I originally planned."

She laughed again, and he laughed with her this time. They spent at least an hour together at the bar, just laughing at the various costumed customers they had to serve. It was nice. They actually talked to one another without that usual tension suffocating the air between them. What was more surprising – they laughed together. Something he could never remember happening.

She had a quirky sense of humor. Something he would have never suspected or expected from her. She listened to the customers tales of their costumes, fascinated, even adding her own element of intrigue to their stories. She even made up one for him after he mentioned something about claws and animal sense and a healing factor.

"You're a man without a past, or a past you don't remember," she began. She weaved a tale for him complete with government conspiracy, vengeful commanders, brainwashing, and sordid past deeds like assassination attempts. She really knew how to craft a story. He would give her that much.

"There's something I gotta tell you," he said suddenly, his voice becoming somber, breaking up the light mood. Why was he choosing this moment to tell her anything? She seemed so carefree right now; he should be happy with this.

She looked over behind him for a moment, smiling. Then she looked at him again. Logan turned to see Joaquín walking their way, dressed like the phantom of the fucking opera. Since when was the Phantom considered a villain or a hero? Logan thought that Joaquín was just being pretentious. Ororo looked over at Joaquín and then back at him. She had a look in her eyes that asked if him he really had anything important to tell her.

"Never mind," he said disappointed, "it can wait." She patted his hand amiably, migrating to the end of the bar where Joaquín sat.

He didn't get a chance to talk to her before they closed the club. He made sure Jean got home okay, and then he found himself at Ororo's house. He felt kind of silly standing there in front of her door still in his costume, but he wanted to talk to her before he went home. He knocked on her door tentatively. Can't say he'd ever done that before. It was an alien feeling, his knuckles rapping against the hard wood of her door. Before, he would just let himself into her house, but things were different now.

"Coming," he heard her say. She was dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a large shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked far younger than she really was. She arched an eyebrow at him. "Logan, what are you doing here?"

"I just needed to see you." He answered.

She crossed her arms across her chest, her lips thinning into a hard line. "Another talk? Or maybe you would find my bed more accommodating?" she hissed at him. It amazed him how she could go from friendly to cold in just a matter of hours.

He knew he deserved all her anger and he wouldn't stand there and make any sorry excuses for his behavior. She had a right to be angry, and she had a right to take that anger out on him. She thought he was there to sleep with her. And why shouldn't she feel that way? That's all he seemed to be using her for before.

"Jean's pregnant," he said suddenly.

Her face softened considerably, and she opened the door wider, stepping back, his invitation to come into her home. She led him to the living room. The television was on some kind of gardening show. Did she like gardening? He wondered, but he guessed he would never know the answer to that question. She picked up the remote and switched the television off.

They sat on the opposite ends of the couch. She picked imaginary lint off her shirt while he gathered his words. He could never remember feeling this uncomfortable with her. They were like two teenagers waiting for the other to make the next move.

"She says it's mine." Logan said after sitting there for a while. "She said she hasn't been with Scott in a while because he's been workin' so hard lately at the firm. When you came to Luchesi's with _him_, she had just told me about the baby."

"What are you two going to tell Scott?" she asked.

"I don't know. She is keeping the baby, but she don't wanna hurt Scott, either."

He didn't know what they were going to tell Scott. He'd discussed it with Jean, but she was too busy being elated about having a baby. He knew she wanted that baby, and he was glad that she was happy. Even he was a little excited at the thought, but Jean was avoiding the problem at hand – Scott.

It seemed like he would try to talk to Jean about Scott, and she would divert the conversation to something else – baby names, baby clothes, anything other than Scott. She was scared. Maybe it hurt to think that she might have to sacrifice her marriage for the baby. Logan didn't think Scott was that cruel, though. He had a feeling that Scott loved Jean enough to accept this after the initial hurt faded.

"I think it's too late for that," she said quietly. He didn't hear anything malicious in her voice. All he could hear was sadness. "You may be able to hide an affair from Scott, but there's no way you can hide this baby from him."

"I know, darlin'. I never wanted things to turn out like this, you know?" He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his fingers in his hair. "What was I thinkin' getting involved with a married woman, anyway?"

Why couldn't he have just stayed away from that broad? From the day Jean hired him to work at the club, he'd been the aggressive one. She told him she was married, hadn't considered cheating, the usual things married women say. At the same time, she didn't protest against the constant flirting, the lingering stares, the accidental touches. He knew she was attracted to him. She was curious. He saw it in her eyes when she looked at him.

Why couldn't he have been content with looking and not touching? Why did he have to pursue Jean? At the time, he just _had_ to have her. There was nothing he wouldn't do in order to have her. He hadn't figured Ororo into the equation; he hadn't even known her at the time. He hadn't even believed that someone would stir him more than Jean had.

"We can't really help who we're attracted to. It was a bad decision on your part and on Jean's part, but there's no sense in beating yourself up over it now. What's done is done. You have to think of the baby now." There was an air of wisdom in her voice. He was sorry that he had never talked to her for any length of time. Conversation had never been a top priority for him when he was sleeping with her.

"I know. I'm tryin' to concentrate on that. It's hard, though," he paused for a moment. He had almost called her 'Ro. "I ain't ever been scared of much in my life…"

"But Jean's pregnancy scares you," she finished for him. He nodded. She put a comforting hand over his, and he looked into her eyes. A sympathetic smile parted her lips.

"I'm gonna be responsible for someone other than myself. This kid's life is gonna depend on me. I can't help feelin' like I'm gonna fuck it all up." He continued to babble about his fears concerning fatherhood.

"I'm sure you'll be a wonderful father." Ororo said.

"You're just saying that because you think I want to hear it."

"Most men in your position would have already left Jean alone to worry about the baby on her own. They would figure it was her problem as an unfaithful married woman, but you're hanging in there with her."

"It's my responsibility to be there for her… and the baby." Logan said.

"Yes, it is, and I'm glad that you're accepting this responsibility like a man." She said tenderly.

"How do you feel about this, Ororo? You haven't said much in the way of your feelings?"

"Why should I, Logan? That would be selfish of me. My feelings are insignificant in this situation."

"No, they're not. I gotta know how you feel about all this." Logan said.

She paused for a moment, searching his eyes. "Honestly, I'm hurt, but that's nothing new. I was hurt when I found out about you and Jean. I'm hurt now. I want to feel betrayed, but I can't since there was never any substance to our relationship to begin with. Listen, I care… cared for you deeply. I'm saddened by all this, but I am proud of you, Logan, for being a man about this whole thing."

They were quiet, again. This time it wasn't uncomfortable, though. He didn't think she was aware of the fact that she was tapping her fingers against his skin. Her fingers beat rhythmically against his hands while she lost herself in thought. He relished the feel of her hand on his skin. He tried to memorize the warmth, the texture. He may never know her touch again.

"You're movin' to Spain with a man you barely know?" A statement rather than a question.

She shook herself from her thoughts and stared at him. "As opposed to sleeping with a man I barely know?" she countered with a hard chuckle.

He wondered if she had always been that abrupt or if this was something new. When he first met Ororo, she seemed like a pushover. She didn't seem very confident in herself. Now, she was brimming with confidence. He could feel it oozing from her. He couldn't argue with that, though. She probably did know more about Joaquín than she did him.

"If it makes you feel better, Logan, I am not moving to Spain with Joaquín to live with him. I hadn't planned to in the beginning. I just saw him as some sort of sign, and it just went from there." She said softly. He didn't want to hear that, didn't want to know how her relationship with Joaquín evolved. "I was leaving at first, but now, I am only leaving for a while. I just need to be out of the city."

"So, you're comin' back?" he asked hopefully.

"Eventually. That could be a year from now. That could be ten years from now," she answered. The hope he felt in his heart fizzled and died. A year he could handle, but ten years was an eternity in his book.

"I'm sorry about all the things I've done to you," he started, "I didn't mean to make you feel like some whore or somethin'. I know I ain't exactly show it, but I do care about you. I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay here… with me…"

He was asking her to commit to him, a man who had a baby on the way with her best friend, a man she thought treated her like a piece of ass and not a woman. He was asking her to stick by his side despite all his personal problems. He was asking a lot of her – maybe too much. He wasn't asking her to be a surrogate mother to his baby, and he hoped it didn't sound like that. He was just asking for a chance.

He could see her emotions warring on her face briefly before it became the mask of serenity again. "Our time just isn't now," she said a little wistfully with a shake of her head. She pulled away from him and stood up. She went to the window and stared out into the night.

"But you won't know that until you've given us a chance." He stood as well and followed her to the window. She fingered the collar of her shirt tensely, a nervous habit he'd seen her perform many times.

She shook her head sadly, not looking at him. "We've had our chance. I used to blame you for everything that happened between us. I blamed you for using me, but I'm just as much to blame for letting you use me, for not seeing if there was something more for us. I used to wonder what would happen if we ever had a real relationship."

"And now you don't?" he asked.

"It's not that. I just need time to sort things out, and you have… another life to worry about, right now. If it's meant to be, it will happen. If it's not, it won't." She said. He hated the calm way she said everything while he found his chest tightening in rebellion. Things shouldn't be this way. How could she dismiss him so easily? She obviously thought about the possibility of having more with him, but she didn't even want to give it a chance now.

He wanted to tell her that he still wanted her in his life despite the baby. Maybe she didn't want to be in his life because of the baby. He knew how bizarre it all sounded. He was having a baby with Jean, but he wanted a life with Ororo. It probably sounded ten times weirder in her head. Why should she bear the burden of a baby that wasn't hers anyway?

He may have to choose between Ororo and the baby. He didn't really think Ororo was the type to make him choose. She was too gentle in nature, but he wasn't so sure. And as much as he wanted to be Ororo, he knew he wouldn't be able to choose her of the baby. He would probably loathe her if she made him make such a decision.

He was thinking too far ahead… or being fanciful altogether. She hadn't asked him to make any kind of decisions. She'd all but told him that they couldn't be together. He had a feeling her pride said those words more than her emotion. She was so determined to be rid of him, to show him she could find something better. It's as if she felt she had something to prove to him. Had he pushed her to this, this stubbornness?

- - -

**_Author's Notes:_** I wouldn't let myself update another story before I updated this one. Well, once the muses heard that, they got the ideas churning for this chapter. ;) Funny what a little motivation will do for the muses. Hopefully I can blackmail them into working on the next chapter, too. And Lullaby if you keep talking about seducing my muses, they might just runaway to be with you.


	12. The Dream

**Chapter Twelve  
The Dream**

He floated into her dreams like a whisper spoken so softly that it was barely audible to the ear. He pulled her against him tightly, curling his arm around her protectively. She felt secure lying there with him. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so safe with anyone, not even her ex-husband, but something in the back of her mind murmured warnings. Whatever her brain was trying to warn her about didn't seem so important at the moment. She would worry about it later… much later… like tomorrow.

She ran her fingers sleepily along the arm that hugged her waist while his fingers danced along her stomach. The rhythmic caress of his fingers lulled her further into her miasma. "Is this a dream?" she sighed through her drowsy haze, as he wrapped his arm tighter around her. His answer was a low rumble followed by a soft kiss to the back of her neck.

It couldn't be real. Everything about the moment was completely wrong from the tender way he touched her to the fact that she was even with him. She couldn't be sharing her bed with Logan, not after he'd told her about Jean and the baby, not after she'd told him there was nothing left between them. She couldn't be that naïve, that stupid, that _easy_. Calloused fingers grazed the round of her hip and her heart quickened in response.

_No, this is really what happened_, she said to herself. They'd had a couple of glasses of wine together and talked a little more, settling into conversation like old friends. She'd been pleasantly surprised that he wasn't bad on the conversation front. Oh, they'd had their awkward moments while they talked, but they quickly covered those by changing the subject or marching ahead in their conversation. Then, she'd told him goodnight. She'd stood in her doorway and watched him disappear into the night on his bike.

She hadn't walked him to the door after she put the wine glasses in the kitchen. She hadn't allowed him to kiss her on the cheek as if they really were old friends. She hadn't turned her head so that their lips met. She hadn't kissed him until she thought she would melt on the spot, and she hadn't invited him back into her house or her bed. No, she hadn't done any of that; that was all just part of the dream. None it was really happening.

She arched her back slightly, reveling in the warmth his body provided. She shivered as his lips skimmed over her neck, to her jaw, to that spot behind her ear. A small jolt ran through her when he nibbled on her earlobe, trying to force her back to reality. Instead, the jolt melted into a warm feeling that settled in the bottom of her stomach and spread to her thighs.

Too real, this was too real to be a dream, but she shushed the thought before she fully let it form in her mind. Admitting so would mean admitting that she was hurting two people she didn't want to hurt. How could she do this to Jean, the only true friend she'd known for years? And Joaquín, her beautiful, kindhearted Joaquín, how could she do this to him?

She arched her hips into Logan's touch, silently pleading for just a little bit more. Why hadn't she just made Logan go home when he came to her? She knew the answer to that. He needed someone to talk to, and she was always happy to lend a sympathetic ear. She didn't believe he'd come to her in hope of pity sex. But he was like some kind of drug that held her in a hypnotized state, slowly causing her to lose all self-control. Not real, not real, she reminded herself. It was just a vivid dream. Oh hell, who was she kidding?

He was driving her insane. That's what was truly happening. Before long, she wouldn't know up from down because of him. She would be more like those women she watched on those Lifetime movies and less like herself. She would become one of those women who only wanted what he wanted. But what could she do? She couldn't seem to hide from him. She let her arm snake behind her, up his neck, across the rough whiskers of his face to his hair. Maybe, that was what she wanted.

Part of her really wanted to believe that this was a dream, that in reality she was tangled in her sheets while dreaming of Logan. Another part of her knew this wasn't a dream and that she would regret this in the morning. She heard him mumble something in her ear, but she focused on the way his breath seemed to kiss her skin instead of his voice, letting instinct take over. She would worry about everything in the morning.

———

Ororo was sleep long before he was. She breathed softly beside him, curled at his side. He brushed a loose lock from her face. She looked at peace with herself. She smiled in her sleep, and he recalled someone—his mother, maybe—telling him that people smiled in their sleep when an angel visited them. He traced the line of her smile with one finger.

This was the first time he had really spent the night with her. Usually, he was gone long before she woke up. Why? He didn't know. It just felt like the right thing to do at the time. Perhaps, he believed that if he left he wouldn't get attached. He believed that if he didn't stay the night he wouldn't become too involved.

Well, he proved that theory wrong. Twice, in fact. First, it was Jean. Now, it was Ororo. And he still didn't know what he was going to do about Jean. He hadn't lied to Ororo when he said he thought he had strong feelings for Jean, but the way he felt about Jean was different than the feelings he had for Ororo. And he hoped that she didn't think he was using her as a replacement for Jean.

He didn't want to hear about Joaquín or how she felt about him. On one hand, he cared because that was the competition, but on the other hand, he didn't really want to know. If she told him, it would always be on the back of his mind. He was already bothered by the two of them enough. He didn't need to add her feelings for Joaquín to the mix. All that mattered was that he tried to make her understand his feelings.

He was getting better at telling Ororo how he really felt about her, but it was difficult because he'd never been so candid about his feelings. It just seemed like the more he told her, the more she wanted to hear. And honestly, he wasn't that confident in talking about his feelings. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell her. He just felt a little stupid telling her all that stuff. It never came out the way he wanted it to, and it always sounded like some grade school shit.

Honestly, none of this had been what he expected when he came to her. He had wanted to see her, and he found her to be more sympathetic and forgiving than he deserved. She hadn't accused or condemned. She hadn't done any of the things he'd expected her to do. She listened to him with an open heart and an open mind, but she'd proven herself to be selfless time and time again.

He shouldn't be surprised that she wanted to do something for herself. Maybe, this trip was what she needed. She deserved that for herself, but he couldn't fight the feeling that if he let her leave she wouldn't come back. She said she would, but he was afraid that she wouldn't. Ororo shifted in her sleep and snuggled closer to him.

She was right, though. This couldn't continue. They were sneaking around like they had something to hide, and he didn't know who they were hiding from aside from Jean if they were really trying to keep it secret from her. In the beginning, they didn't talk about it. He guessed it was just silently agreed that what they did stayed behind closed doors. Things were a little different now.

He wasn't really sure where he was going with his life, and he wasn't sure where he'd be when he took his last breath. But he did know that he wanted to spend this moment and every moment after with her. And he promised, if she would just let down some of her defenses, he would do right by her.

———

Ororo nestled her head deeper into Logan's chest, trying in vain to hold on to sleep. All she wanted to do was sleep with Logan at her side. Ororo's eyes snapped open as all thoughts of sleep fled from her mind. She pulled away from him, quickly, sitting up, cursing her ill judgment. Instinctively, she pulled the sheet closer to her body, dropping her head to hands. How could she have been so stupid? What had she been thinking allowing herself to believe what happened was a dream rather than bad judgment? Okay, so maybe she hadn't really believed it was a dream, but she needed an excuse.

She cast a sidelong glance at Logan, blinking rapidly, as if maybe that would make him go away. She sighed deeply, turning her back to him. She would have to wake him up and make him leave, but not before explaining that everything that happened the night before was wrong, a mistake. It had to be their last mistake. They wouldn't discuss it, and it would never happen again. This was not how she'd planned her great escape.

"How stupid can I be?" Ororo asked herself aloud.

"What were you stupid about, darlin'?" His voice was gravelly, deep, and stained with lust. His rough fingers caressed the bare skin of her back. She shivered in response before pulling herself away from him. She couldn't give in to him, now. How was he supposed to ever take her seriously if she was always giving in to him?

She stood from the bed, wrapping the sheet around herself tightly. She turned to face him, trying to appear stern. He didn't bother to cover his nudeness with the blanket, allowing her an eyeful of everything he had to offer. Her eyes trailed over sinewy muscles, admiring the strong beauty in them. How many nights has she spent memorizing the feel of those muscles?

At that moment, she wished she truly was an artist. She would've capture Logan just as he was in a drawing or a painting. Then again, neither a drawing nor a painting would have done him justice. Neither would've have captured the true essence of him. _Focus_, she said to herself. She centered her eyes on his face, hoping that he hadn't noticed her distraction. No such luck. The look in his eyes said it all.

"About us, about _this_," she finally answered.

"Do you really believe that?" he asked, his dark eyes searching hers. He sat up in the bed, leaning against the headboard. The look he gave her was almost pained. She wanted to crawl back into the bed beside him and tell him that she didn't believe it. She turned her eyes away from him. She wouldn't allow him to manipulate her like this.

"Yes, I do. I don't know why I continue to play these games with you," she said crossly.

She knew he wasn't all to blame for what happened the night before. Maybe, he wasn't to blame for any of what happened. Her actions, her decisions, were what caused that whole relationship to happen, but she needed to bait him into this argument. She needed the anger to fuel her, to lend her courage for that moment. She tried to latch on to all the anger she'd felt for him, but she was finding it harder and harder to do so.

"Everythin' I told you, everythin' I said to you was no game." His voice remained steady and calm. It infuriated her how calm he managed to stay when she wanted him to argue and fight with her.

"Oh, right. I'm supposed to believe that after all this time you feel something for me," she said with a shake of her head.

"I never said I didn't feel nothin' for you."

"You didn't have to tell me you didn't feel anything for me. Your actions said everything I needed to know. If you truly cared for me, why did you treat me like I was nothing more than a quick fuck?"

"Why do you think I keep comin' back if all I wanted was a _quick fuck_? I could get a _quick fuck_ from anywhere."

"I don't know why you keep coming back. Maybe, it's because you think I'm easy. Why go somewhere else when you can easily get it from me?"

"You think that's why I came to you last night?" He sounded a little hurt. He had poured his heart out to her, shared his dreams, his fears, his expectations with her, and this was the kind of treatment he got from her in return.

She sighed deeply, closing her eyes for a second. "No, I don't believe that's why you came to me last night," she admitted. She knew he came to her because he needed someone to talk to. He'd needed a friend. She didn't know why he'd chosen her to be that friend. They'd never shared a decent conversation together, and she had never thought about considering him a friend.

"Then, why are you tryin' so hard to make me the villain?" he asked.

She didn't know. Making him the villain was her justification for everything that happened. She could easily place the blame on him, using a million different reasons why he treated her the way he did. He preyed on her vulnerability. He saw some weakness in her armor, and he used it against her. She was well-aware that she couldn't place all the blame on him. She had her part in the whole mess, but she believed that she wouldn't have to face herself everyday if she placed all the blame on Logan – however wrong that thinking was. She couldn't escape from herself, so why did she continue to lie to herself everyday?

"You have to understand," she started in a gentler tone. "From the beginning, I convinced myself that you didn't care about me. What other explanation was there? You never acknowledged me outside the bedroom, never talked to me, never told me you cared. What was I supposed to think?"

"You coulda talked to me."

"And what was I supposed to say to you? Was I supposed to demand that you tell me how you feel about me? I would have been lucky if you even looked at me, much less tell me how you felt about me," she said. Then, she added, "Besides, you're not the most approachable person in the world."

She almost slapped him when he had to the gall to laugh at her last statement. It wasn't really a laugh, but more like an entertained chuckle, the kind of chuckle grownups gave children when they said something amusing. He wasn't laughing at her, he said. He knew he wasn't an easy person to get along with most of the time, and she wasn't really telling him anything that he hadn't already heard a thousand times before.

She wasn't amused and she told him as much, but she allowed him to pull him into his arms, guiding her back to the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her into his lap, looking into her eyes. She didn't say a word as he articulated every feeling he had for her while his face turned an obscene shade of red. She'd never seen him blush, never, not even when two drunken female clubbers stripped naked, jumped on the bar, and started grinding right in his face. She figured saying such things to anyone was hard.

But the more he said, the more she found herself wanting to give in. Once he finished speaking, she didn't know what to say to him. What was she getting herself into with this man? Why did he have the ability to make her want to break all her promises to herself?

She looked away from Logan, focusing her attention on anything but him. Someone standing in the bedroom door caught her attention. She gripped Logan's shoulder tightly, but she didn't speak. For a moment, her eyes latched firmly to those in the bedroom door. Then, Ororo pushed herself away from Logan, quickly, nearly losing her balance, as the person in the door turned to leave.

She heard the front door slam loudly, literally seeming to shake the house at its foundation. Ororo rushed to her window, watching the figure rush down the walkway. She wanted to open the window and call to the person, but she couldn't move.

"Who was it?" Logan asked.

Ororo remained silent, even after the flash of red hair disappeared.

———

**Author's Notes:** First, let me say, PLEASE **_DON'T_** KILL ME! It's just been a hectic few of months. This would have been out sooner, but there were a couple of ways that this chapter could've have gone. I couldn't decide which direction I wanted to take this at first. Then, it finally came to me as I was listening to "True Love Waits" by Radiohead, "Kissing in the Rain" from the Great Expectations soundtrack, and "I Put A Spell On You" by Nina Simone. After listening to those songs, I ended up going in a completely different direction with this chapter. My friend Stephanie also inspired me for parts of this chapter, as well. And if you still need someone to be mad at after all that explaining, be mad at my SO (significant other), William. Yes, when things go wrong, we blame William. You can blame him for making me sappy too. LOL. Good news. William is back to working early in the morning (which is what originally prompted me to start this story), so the next part is on its way soon. Promise. It's half written, and as long as I don't get stalled, it should be out within a week or two (sooner if real life doesn't decide to interfere).


	13. La Revelación

**_Chapter Thirteen  
La Revelación_**

After the scene at the house, she insisted Logan leave. She didn't tell him who had gone storming from her house. The sad part was that he didn't even know what was going on. A whole event of things had transpired in a matter of seconds and he was none the wiser. Maybe it was for the best right now, but he would know soon enough, though.

She'd spent most of the day pacing from room to room in deep thought. She wouldn't answer the phone; she wouldn't answer the door. She didn't leave the house for anything. She needed time alone to mull over what happened, to really let it take shape in her mind. If she'd been a drinking woman, she would have already drowned herself in half the wine in the wine cellar.

She smiled a little to herself when she remembered how she explained to Logan the night before the reason why wine glasses have long stems, which ultimately resulted in him saying that wine wasn't worth the trouble wine snobs gave it. Then, Ororo let the smile slip from her face when she thought about the look in Jean's eyes when she saw them together.

She knew she didn't have a reason to feel guilty, but she couldn't help feeling like she'd done something wrong. She had done something wrong. She had deceived Jean. And how was she supposed to look Joaquín in the eyes knowing she'd made love to another man, even though they hadn't put a status on their relationship? If she had just listened to herself, if she'd just let Logan go his own way, she wouldn't have this dilemma to deal with.

Ororo arrived at the club earlier than usual. She knew Jean would already be there, handling last minute business as always. She wasn't sure what to expect. She couldn't remember the last time she argued with Jean about something this serious. She didn't want this to cause a rift between them, but she wasn't sure if she would be so lucky. This was one of those situations where everything went wrong and only time and understanding could heal it.

When she entered the club, Jean was at the bar, staring idly into space. She turned her eyes to Ororo slowly, as she came around the bar. Then, she turned her back to Ororo. Ororo knew this wouldn't be easy, and she only hoped they could come out of this with some kind of understanding. She stopped a few feet away from Jean. Guilt burned away at her.

"Jean…" Ororo started.

Jean clinched a towel between her hands, twisting it tightly. She took a deep breath and finally turned to face Ororo. "Hello, Ororo," she said with a smile. The smile was too big for her face, making her eyes squint unnaturally. It looked more like a grimace than a smile. Ororo tried to smile back, but her lips felt like lead.

"Jean—" Ororo tried again, moving closer to Jean, trying to find the words to make her friend understand. She didn't know how she would ever begin to explain this whole mess to Jean.

Jean cleared her throat, putting the towel back on the bar. She started running her fingers nervously through her hair. It was a sign that Jean was trying to control her emotions. Ororo would have preferred if she just let it all out and be done with it. She'd rather hear everything that was in Jean's heart than to be clueless about what she really felt.

"I came by your place this morning," Jean continued. Her eyes began to water and her voice broke on the last syllable. Jean took another deep breath and averted her eyes away from Ororo, clearing her throat again. "I knocked on your door, but you didn't answer. We were supposed to go shopping today, remember?"

"Yes, I remember, but—"

"Your door was unlocked, so I figured that meant you were up already. So, I walked right in." Jean bit her lip and then repeated in a quieter voice. "I walked right in. I thought you were upstairs somewhere and couldn't hear me, so I went up the stairs. You were upstairs all right. Only, you were _busy_."

The word "busy" was nothing more than an angry spit from Jean's mouth. Her eyes blazed when she turned them back to Ororo. They asked questions, demanded answers.

"I never meant to hide anything from you or hurt you." Ororo said, reaching out to touch Jean's hand, but Jean pulled away from her.

During all the times she'd obsessed over her own feelings, she had never considered what Jean might've felt if she ever found out. She had never considered that behind Jean's flippant admission to sleeping with Logan that maybe she actually cared for Logan. Maybe, it was because she never meant for Jean to find out. Maybe, it was because she was selfish, concerned only for her own feelings.

"You didn't?" Jean asked with a hard chuckle.

"Just let me explain, okay? What happened last night between Logan and me was a mistake. He came over to talk. We needed to clear the air between us."

"I could see there was a lot of talking going on, so I guess you two made up." Jean said sarcastically.

"I didn't know about you and Logan until you told Yuriko and me about it that day at the club. I heard some things, but I thought they were just rumors. After that, before that even, I knew I _could not_ continue to let him…" Ororo's voice trailed. She knew it wasn't a very good explanation, but she was trying.

"But you have _continued to let him_, even after you knew." Jean spat at her. Ororo turned her eyes downward. "Were you really that desperate that you would go after my sloppy seconds? Logan doing something for you that Joaquín isn't?"

Ororo jerked her head up, her angry glare clashing with Jean's. Here she was trying to apologize to Jean only to be accused of going after Jean's leftovers. What right did Jean actually have to be angry? She admitted to toying with Logan, to only wanting him for one thing. She admitted that she would never leave Scott. Who really committed the sin between them?

"How can you be possessive of a man that isn't truly yours? Maybe, I was stupid to get involved with Logan, but you're married for Goddess's sake and you're about to have another man's baby." Ororo immediately quieted after that. She hadn't meant to use that as ammunition against Jean.

"He told you that?" Jean asked softly. She was the one who looked away this time.

"Yes." Ororo admitted.

"That's some pillow talk."

"He just needed to talk to someone about it. He is genuinely worried." Ororo paused before she had the chance to tell Jean that he said she tried to avoid the real problems caused by the subject. She'd said enough for one day. "Look, I will not apologize to you for being with Logan. I'm not the one who should be sorry for that, but I will apologize for saying the things I said to you and for not being honest with you about Logan. But I will not allow you to make me feel guilty for being with him."

She'd already done that to herself enough, and she didn't need Jean making it any worse. Jean didn't answer her immediately. "We're adults here. There's no sense in us arguing over Logan." Jean said. Her face was stony and unreadable, but Ororo could still hear the anger in her voice.

"I think we should just sit down and talk about this." Nothing had truly been resolved between them. Ororo knew it would only fester underneath the surface until it boiled over.

"What more is there to talk about? Are we supposed to share a play-by-play of our times with Logan? Or should we start planning a weekly schedule of who gets Logan on what days?" Jean asked derisively. "Pardon me if I decline the invitation."

Ororo felt her anger threatening to get the best of her again, but she calmed herself. She wouldn't resort to that sort of behavior. "That's not what I meant. I meant we need to sit down together and discuss this. This is not something that will just go away."

"Don't you get it yet, Ororo? I don't want to discuss it. Not now, not ever. I don't want to know about Logan and you. You were my friend…" Jean's words trailed. Jean shook her head. "I want to just get on with my life. In time, this will become a thing of the past. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Jean didn't wait for Ororo's reply as she walked toward her office. Ororo thought about chasing her and making her listen to what she had to say, but she didn't. She would have to wait until Jean had time to cool down before she tried to talk to her again.

"Well, that went well." Ororo said to herself dryly.

There was just one other person she felt obligated to talk to.

———

Jean left early, leaving terse instructions for them to lock up good after the club closed. She'd been acting funny all night. Jean had her moods, and he figured they would be worse now that she was pregnant. He hadn't worried about. He probably should've worried more than he did. He wanted to be there for her, but he wasn't sure what he was doing or how to go about all this. Was he supposed to go after her? Ask her what was wrong? What?

He wasn't so sure Ororo had been right when she said he'd make a good father. He already felt like he was doing everything wrong and nothing good could come of this. He didn't go after Jean. He probably should have, but lately, it seemed like he rarely did anything he was supposed to do.

So, he held his position at the bar, serving the drunks and listening to the so-called music. Then, he'd seen Ororo come down the stairs that led to the upstairs bar with Joaquín in tow. He was just like her goddamn shadow. Wherever she went he went. She led him down the hallway where Jean's office and the storage room were located.

When he saw her leading Joaquín into the back, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He tried to ignore it. Whatever she had to say to him was none of his business. Then, he reasoned that maybe it had something to do with him, and he was entitled to hear it if it concerned him. Right? Of course, he was.

So, he left Gumbo to man the bar. That probably wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done considering Remy's track record, but he did it nonetheless. He heard nearly everything, and he hadn't liked anything he heard. He couldn't understand why Ororo was so hell-bent on having Joaquín's approval.

He'd stood by the storeroom door. It wasn't completely closed and wouldn't close completely since that asshole, Creed, nearly ripped it off the hinges the week before during one of his fits—whatever those were about. Jean hadn't gotten around to getting it fixed and good thing, too. For once, though, he could say that Creed did do something worthwhile.

Light spilled from the small sliver in the doorway. He should've been worried about being seen, but what was the worse that could happen if they did see him, the tea party would breakup? Joaquín had his back turned to the door, and Ororo was facing him. He could make out the bothered expression on her face as she began to talk to him.

He knew what he was hoping to hear her say. He wanted her to tell Joaquín to get lost in that nice way that only she could say it. He wanted to hear her tell him that there was someone else, that she wasn't moving away. He thought he'd made some kind of breakthrough with her earlier until she clammed up about whoever was in her house.

He'd wondered about that most of the day. Apparently, the person who'd been in her house was someone she knew. This person also made her attitude change drastically. One minute, she seemed to be really listening to him, believing him, melting into him. Then, the next she was cold and unresponsive. He actually hoped that person had been Joaquín, and this conversation was about that.

"There's something I need to tell you about or rather someone I need to tell you about." Ororo said, staring intently at Joaquín's face.

Logan found himself feeling a little apprehensive about what she would really tell him. Obviously, she was about to tell him about them. Whether it would be good or bad, he didn't know.

"Okay," he heard Joaquín say, drawing out the syllables.

She started fiddling with the collar of her shirt. "Okay," she said with resolution in her voice. "Remember on our first date how we made up a life for a woman we didn't even know."

Joaquín nodded in the affirmative, and Logan raised his eyebrow. They did what? Made up lives for people? It didn't make much sense to him, but that was beside the point. What she was about to say about the two of them was what he considered important.

"Then, you remember how her life became increasingly depressing once I started talking and how I said—"

"That maybe she deserved to be treated like a whore." Joaquín finished her sentence for her.

Logan furrowed his eyebrows. He knew that she felt he treated her like a sex toy, that he didn't take her feelings into account, but she had never told him that she believed that she deserved it. He never wanted her to feel like he was treating her like a whore. He hadn't wanted her to get attached; he hadn't wanted to get attached. But things never worked out how you wanted them too with things like this.

"Right, and then you said…"

"Has she ever stopped to think that we might not always deserve what we get?"

"Yes," she said softly, a small smile lighting her face. "And I know you realized that we were no longer talking about the woman. I mean, it wasn't that moment that made you realize. You realized it long before we ever got to that point in the conversation."

"Yes, we were talking about you," he said frankly. Ororo touched the side of the face. Logan averted his eyes when she did that. He could see this definitely wasn't going where he wanted it to. At least, he didn't believe it was.

"I always liked your honesty, but yes, we were talking about me. Weren't you ever curious about it?" she asked.

"Of course, I wanted to know more about the person who hurt you, but I did not want to pry. I knew you would tell me when you were ready for me to know."

"Well, I'm ready to tell you," she said quietly.

And she did just that. Logan listened as she told Joaquín everything from the very beginning to what happened between them the night before. She explained everything in vivid detail, explaining her feelings, explaining her position. She didn't blame as much as she placed blame on herself for being stupid. Honestly, he found himself feeling a little ashamed himself. Some of the things she said, he never knew she felt about him. She'd told him what she felt in so many words, but she'd never described her feelings in explicit detail to him as she was doing now with Joaquín.

She looked away from Joaquín when she finished. Tears ran out her of her eyes, but she didn't make a sound. Neither one of them said anything. He guessed Joaquín was letting all this new information sink in. "I can understand if you never want to see me again." Ororo said. A part of Logan hoped he did say he didn't want to see her, but another part knew if Joaquín gave up now he was the stupidest son-of-a-bitch ever.

"No, I want to be here for you," Joaquin finally said, pulling Ororo into a hug. Logan flinched as if he was the one who'd been touched.

She clung to Joaquín, relief washing over her face. "I just needed you to know everything before we went any further in our relationship, if it goes any further."

"I am glad that you told me, and I would like to see where our relationship goes." Joaquin said softly, stroking Ororo's hair.

"You don't know how happy you've made me since we've met. I spent most of my time loathing myself, wondering what was wrong with me, but when I'm with you, it's like I can't hate myself." Ororo said.

"Why should you hate yourself?" he asked. "We have all made mistakes, but we learn from them."

The mistake, Logan was tired or being referred to as a mistake. Logan told himself that he'd seen enough, and he should get back to the bar. He stood rooted in place. He had to see how all this played out to the end.

"Okay, I'd better get back out there," she said. She pulled away from the embrace, wiping her eyes of tears.

Logan started to back away from the door, as Ororo made a move to move around Joaquín, but not before he saw Joaquín grab her arm and reel her back into a kiss. Logan stood motionless for moment, warring with the part of him that wanted to go in the room and break every bone in his body. He knew if he stayed there a second longer, somebody was going to be sorry, so he quickly made his way back to the front before action could take over rational thought.

When the club closed, he made his way to the upstairs bar. Yuriko was busy chatting away, as they cleaned the upstairs area. Ororo didn't say much of anything, but Yuriko hardly ever let anyone get a word in a conversation.

"Hey, can you give us a minute?" Logan asked Yuriko.

Yuriko looked from Ororo to Logan with interest, but she left without any argument. He knew this one would be on the rumor mill before they even went home for the night. Ororo didn't address him, as she continued to pick up discarded cups. She walked back to the bar and began wiping the counter diligently.

"You know, that was a private conversation you heard," she said, breaking the silence.

"You mean all that stuff you said to him?" Logan asked, ignoring her last statement. Hell, she didn't have to tell him it was private. He knew that, but did she really think he cared?

Ororo wiped the counter violently. "Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?" she asked.

"People say a lotta stuff they don't mean," he said, leaning against the counter right next to her. She still wouldn't look at him.

"You would know a lot about that, wouldn't you?" he heard her murmur under her breath.

"What's that?"

"Nothing," she said. "Logan, look, we've caused enough trouble. I'm not sure if you're aware, but Jean knows. I tried to talk to her earlier, but she wasn't doing much listening."

"That's was who was at your house this morning."

"She didn't talk to you?" Ororo asked, sounding a little surprised. No, she hadn't talked to him, and Logan didn't believe she would've talked to Ororo, either, if Ororo hadn't already seen her.

"Not about that, no," he answered. "I don't think Jean was as blind as she wants you to believe, anyway. I think she always had her suspicions about what was goin' on."

"How can you say that?" Ororo asked in disbelief.

"You might buy the princess act, but I know better. Jean ain't nearly as fragile as you're actin' like she is." There were things that Jean had said or done that made him wonder whether Jean really didn't know or if she was just playing a part.

"I never said–"

"No, but you act like she is. So, Jean knows about us." Logan shrugged. "Who cares? I don't answer to Jean. I don't answer to nobody. I'm not badmouthin' Jean or tryin' to turn you against her, but she ain't as innocent in all this as you want her to be."

Ororo didn't say anything.

"So, why didn't ya ever tell me the stuff you told _him_ about me?" he asked.

"Because I didn't think you cared to know," she said.

Didn't care to know? What had he been trying to tell her all this time? Did she think he was spilling his guts to her because for his health? He did care. Isn't that what he'd been saying to her? She couldn't really be listening to everything he'd said to her if she still thought he "didn't care to know." The more he thought about it, the angrier he got.

"What do you want from me?" he asked her, his voice starting to rise. "Do I gotta get down on my knees for you to know I'm serious?" He grabbed her arms, and she looked up at him, startled. "What do you want? I'm tired of askin' you."

He let go of her arms before he started shaking her. He had to get away from her before he completely lost his cool with her. Why did he continue to waste her breath, especially now that she made it clear that she wanted Joaquín? Without anymore words, he turned and walked away from her.

———

**Author's Notes:** No worries, Darlin'. I definitely picked up the Storm comic from our local comic store. I wouldn't have missed out on that in the world. :) BB, you knew I couldn't make it that easy for Logan. ;) And once again, I wanted to thank everyone for your kind reviews. And don't worry, I don't plan to keep making you wait so long for between updates. Oh! To answer your question from your Suckers review, Monica, (since it'll be a minute before I update that), yes I am. Yay me!


	14. The Plan

**_Chapter Fourteen  
The Plan_**

The bar a small place that many people might consider seedy but comfortable. It was a place where the juke box was filled with blues music and old classics from the 60's and 70's, a place where the smoke was so thick you could slice it with your hand and people could drown their sorrows in their liquor without being disturbed. It was something different from the vibrant, lively atmosphere of The Phoenix. It was dark, dank, and everyone minded their own damn business. Just the way he liked it.

The bartender sat another beer in front of Logan, looking at him warily. Logan didn't know how many beers he'd had since arriving at the bar, but he knew he'd been knocking them back like they were nothing. Earlier, the bartender had made the mistake of saying something about how much he was drinking. Logan told him in so many words that it wasn't his job to worry about how much he drank. It was his job to make sure he didn't run out of beer to drink.

Logan thumbed the mouth of the mug. He'd been coming to this place religiously since that night he walked away from Ororo about a week ago. He didn't like sitting home alone in the dark sulking over what happened. He felt much better sulking over his problems at bar where his problems hung thick in the air with other people's problems.

He hadn't talked to Ororo since that night. They worked together, but it was always the same shit, different night. She avoided him, and he avoided her. They didn't say anything to each other unless they had. Even then, they tried to avoid talking to each other, acting like a couple of kids instead of adults. They would send messages to each other through one of the other bartenders. One night, it got so bad that Remy told them to fuck and make up, then stalked away leaving a trail of French curses behind him.

Every single person that worked in that place knew about them now. He didn't care that the others knew. He couldn't care less what they thought of him. What bothered him about the rumor mill was the outrageous stories that he sometimes caught wind of. Didn't they have a life of their own to speculate on? It was like their brains never ran out of new stories to tell about each other. It was either that or they really didn't have a life to worry about. Probably both.

None of what he heard was close to the truth. In the past few days, he'd heard that he was sharing Ororo with Joaquín. He heard that he and Ororo frequented the local bondage club where he collared Ororo. Hell, he even heard that he'd collared both Ororo and Joaquin. If he found out who started that one he was going to kick some serious ass. And these people called themselves their friends.

He knew if he heard it, Ororo had heard it, too. They didn't even make up that many stories about Jean and him. Jean was another person he'd been avoiding, but she wasn't avoiding him. In fact, she tried to talk to him and he always found something to do, had something to do, or was doing something that needed all of his attention. He knew it wasn't fair to avoid her. He just didn't want to talk about any of it at that moment, but he knew he couldn't shun her forever.

What he was trying to figure out now was where did he do now? He walked away. Was he supposed to walk away for good now? When he overheard Ororo tell Joaquín everything that happened between them, he remembered thinking that Joaquin would've been stupid to just let her go. Now, it looked like he was the one who giving up the fight.

What could he do? Ororo hadn't heard a word he said, and he couldn't force her to do anything she didn't want to, despite the rumors circulating about him being the dom in the relationship. He wasn't so sure if Ororo really knew what she wanted. She said she did, but her actions didn't always reflect her words. She would tell him she didn't want him, but her actions would say otherwise. Then, she would go into all out resist mode.

He knew she did it because she thought that was what was good for her. He'd hurt her, and she was trying to convince herself that that was what a lifetime would be like with him. It didn't matter what he said or what he did to prove otherwise. She couldn't go through life believing she'd never be hurt again. Life was full of hurts that couldn't be avoided, but he would try his best not to hurt her again. Jean had much to do with her change in attitude, too. Ororo didn't want to hurt Jean, but it was Jean who should be the one worrying hurting people.

He had to go home or he'd never get up in the morning. He left the bartender a generous tip and left the bar. On his way home, he stopped at a payphone. He dug some change out of his pocket and started to put it in the machine. No, he couldn't do that. He was supposed to be letting all this go. He was supposed to be moving on.

God, she complicated him. He wished these feelings for her would just go away. He didn't want to feel like this, anymore. He'd done everything he was supposed to do, and he still hadn't gotten anywhere with her. Shit was getting way too complicated for him now. He just needed to put the phone down, go home, and go to sleep.

He would not call her, and he would not try to see her. The best way to get over her was to let it go. In time, his feelings for her would fade, and he would be free of her finally. All he had to do now was _let it go_.

He stood in the payphone just holding the receiver while the operator's mechanical voice prompted him to deposit money into the phone. It was two in the morning. She was probably sleeping, anyway.

He didn't care. He just had to hear her voice.

———

That night she had dinner with Joaquín at her house. She wasn't on the schedule for the night. Jean still hadn't talked to her since that day, and it was more than clear that she was trying to keep Logan and her away from each other. When they were on the schedule together, she worked the upstairs bar while Logan worked the downstairs bar or vice versa. One of them always went home early.

She wanted to tell Jean that she didn't have to go through all that work to keep them apart. She hoped Jean didn't really believe something like scheduling them to work different bars would really keep them apart, if they really wanted to be together. She was glad for the unexpected off day, though. It was getting hard to ignore Logan, even with Jean's methodical planning. She still had to interact with him from time to time.

She wanted to be relieved that he seemed to finally take the hint, but she wasn't. She thought this was what she wanted, him out of her life. She was disappointed, though. She expected him to put up a better fight than he had. Maybe, she'd taken all the fight out of him. When he asked her what she wanted, he seemed a little tired. Could she blame him for being fed up?

Maybe, she was playing her own elaborate game of hunter and prey now. Maybe, she enjoyed that he came to her. She lured him to her, allow him to get so close, and then she pushed him away, only to start the game all over again. Some might say it was sweet revenge for the way he treated her, but she didn't want revenge on him for what happened. She just wanted something good in her life.

She heard what Logan was saying to her, but she rebelled against it. Sometimes, she just wanted to give in to him and see what happened, but her rational mind would take over, overshadowing what her heart felt, reminding her that she was tired of his games, and her mind was probably right.

Ororo turned her thoughts away from Logan. It wasn't fair to devote all her time thinking about Logan when she was with Joaquín, and it wasn't fair to her that she couldn't get him off her mind. She took a bite of her food and started a new conversation with him, hoping that it would take her mind off Logan.

She told him about Joaquín decision not to sell the house. She didn't know why, but she wanted to keep it. It was hers; she deserved it. She wasn't even sure she wanted to leave, anymore. She believed she really wanted to leave because of Logan. Now, while things weren't really resolved between them, she was coming to terms with everything. But if she did stay, she was definitely redecorating that bedroom. That monster of a bed was the first thing to go.

She was starting to feel better about herself, and she knew she wasn't some kind of love pariah. It still hurt to be around Logan. She knew it would be a while before she really got over him, if she ever did get over him, but she knew now that she could only take it one day at a time.

When she got divorced, she told herself that the next time around she would take love slowly, but she found herself in an obsessive relationship with Logan. And it scared her more than she wanted to admit. It scared her to the point that she was ready to uproot her whole life to get away from him. She was doing it again. She was letting Logan rule her thoughts, but she couldn't help it.

She spent the rest of dinner talking about anything that would eliminate the thought of Logan from her mind. She loved talking with Joaquín. He was always so attentive to what she said. He always made her feel special like she some kind of precious stone. She didn't know why she would waste her time thinking about Logan when she was with him. Why would she think about _anyone_ else when she was with him?

After dinner, they danced together in her living room while looking into each other's eyes. _Goddess, he has such beautiful eyes_, she said to herself. She reached up and touched his hair, wanting to feel how soft it was against her fingers, again. He smiled at her and she felt her nerves tingle. She couldn't deny that she was attracted to him.

He'd always been a perfect gentleman with her. Sometimes, she wished he would be a little more aggressive, but then, she decided that it was better that he took things slow. She'd had enough fast men in her life to last her a while. She needed to be in control of this, and he was giving her that control.

She brought her hand up to his hair, tangling both hands in his hair, pulling him closer to her. Their lips met, softly at first, and she savored the sweet taste of his mouth. Their kiss deepened, as she untangled her fingers from his hair and started to lead him away from the living room.

They continued kissing, stumbling over furniture, as they fumbled toward the stairs. She heard something go crashing to the floor. "Oops," she said between their kisses. She helped him take his sweater off, losing it somewhere on the stairs, as they continued to the bedroom. She'd already lost her own at the bottom of the stairs.

In the bedroom, they tumbled into the bed together. The more she kissed him, the more she wanted to kiss him. She wanted nothing more than to feel his hands on every inch of her body. He hungrily pulled away the wrap skirt she wore. She slowed the pace by pushing him back on the bed, straddling his hips. She kissed his neck, running her hands over his chest and abs.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.

She looked up at him, smiling wickedly. Her lips found his again, her hands slowly undoing the clasp of his jeans. The phone started ringing. Her first reaction was to ignore it. Who would be calling her at this time of night, anyway? _Logan_. Her heart skipped a beat. "The phone's ringing," she said as if he didn't already know that, reaching for the phone at her bedside. She turned it on.

"Just ignore it," he said, rolling her over in the bed. The phone went slipping from her hand, dropping to the floor. He ran his tongue over the lacy material of the bra, his thumbs hooking the straps. She moaned, and then she tilted his head towards her, regaining her wits.

"The phone is already on," she said with an embarrassed laugh. If whoever called was still on the phone, they were getting an earful.

She raised her hand to tug at her collar until she realized she'd lost the sweater a long time ago. She hoped it really wasn't Logan. She didn't think he knew her phone number, though. He had never called her before. Why now? She was just being silly. She had to get Logan off the brain.

Joaquín leaned over the edge of the bed, retrieving the phone, bringing it to his ear. "Hello? Hello?" he said into the phone. Then, handed it to her. "There is no one there."

"We probably scared them away," she said, putting the phone back on the charger. Then, she turned back to him. "Now, where were we?"

———

He was still on the phone when it went dead in his ear, leaving the annoying sound of the dial tone buzzing in his ear. He gripped it in his hand for a moment. Then, without warning, he started beating the phone against the machine. The phone cracked in his hands. He stomped out of the booth and sat on his bike. He took a deep breath before he started it. He didn't want to kill himself in anger.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to know what was going on at Ororo's place. He'd heard all he needed to hear, maybe more than he needed to hear. Now, he had images of Ororo in his head. He could see her just as she always was with him. Her skin glowing with sweat, her breath coming in short sighs, the demure lowering of her eyelids while he looked down at her. He couldn't think about that. She wasn't with him now.

Jean sat on the top stair of the stairs leading to the upstairs apartments when he arrived home. He groaned inwardly, pausing halfway up the stairs. "What are you doin' here?" he asked Jean.

"I just wanted to talk to you," she said. He walked up the rest of the stairs slowly, helping her to stand once he was standing beside her. She held on to his hand while they walked to his door.

He wasn't really surprised that she was there. His apartment was where most of their dirty work took place. He knew she would show up there sooner or later. Truthfully, he had expected her to show up earlier than this. He'd been expecting her since the night Ororo told him that Jean knew about them.

He unlocked the door to his apartment, and they walked inside. He'd made plans to fall into the bed. He wanted to forget the night happened, or rather, he wanted to forget what knew. He kicked off his boots in the middle of the floor and went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out a beer. Might as well have another since he was going to be up a while.

He leaned in the kitchen doorway. Jean was sitting on the couch. She really was beautiful, and he felt those stirrings for her. He cared for her, but it wasn't the same way he cared about Ororo. Did he love Jean? Maybe in his own way. He walked toward her and sat next to her on the couch.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

"You've been drinking," she said crinkling her nose.

"Yeah," he said. _What of it?_ he asked silently. If she came here to talk about his drinking habits, she was better off not wasting her breath.

"I've been waiting here for a while," she said.

She wasn't fooling him with that bullshit. That may work on Ororo, but it didn't work on him. That was her clever way of trying to get him to tell her where he was. She wanted to know if he was with Ororo. He hated to disappoint her.

"I was out," he said plainly. It wouldn't hurt to make her sweat for a little while.

"With _her_?" she asked softly.

"No, not with _her_," he said. He didn't say anymore than that. He didn't have to. She wasn't his goddamn babysitter.

Before he could react, she was in his lap, searing him with her kisses, the kind that could make him go completely crazy. He returned her kisses just as eagerly as she gave them. Her kisses were nothing like Ororo's, though. He stopped kissing her abruptly. Talk about a quick way to kill his mood. Besides, she was pregnant. He didn't even know if it was okay for her to have sex.

"What?" Jean breathed into his ear.

"Is this safe with you bein' pregnant and all?" he asked.

"Perfectly," she said.

He didn't know the first thing about babies and pregnant women. He didn't really see any change in her, but he knew the kid was there. He might hurt her or he might hurt the baby. And he couldn't get Ororo off his mind, and he just couldn't. Now, there was first.

"I don't think we should," he said firmly, pushing her back to the couch gently.

Jean didn't say anything, but her softness melted as she straightened her backbone. "All right, straight to business," she said. She had a hard look in her eyes. She always got that look before she was about to say something spiteful. He prepared himself. Maybe, she was going to fire him for sleeping with Ororo. It wouldn't exactly be the end of the world. "I'm going to tell Scott the baby is his."

When she said that, it seemed as if everything got quiet. The beer he was holding slipped from his fingers, crashing to the floor. "What did you just say?" he asked, his voice lowering to a growl. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. So, the plan was to sleep with him to soften him up a bit, and then drop this news on him, except it didn't quite turn out that way.

"I said I'm going to tell Scott this is his baby," she said. He didn't know how she could continue to look him in the eye after what she just said.

"You said you haven't slept with him. How are you s'pose to make him believe that? I don't think he's gonna go for the divine intervention excuse. It worked for Mary, but it ain't gonna work for you." He said angrily.

"I got him to sleep with me. I'll wait a few weeks, and then I'll tell him I'm pregnant," she said. So, these were the lengths she was willing to go to save her marriage with Scott without telling him the truth. She was more desperate than he originally thought.

"What? Now, I gotta pretend like the kid ain't mine?" he asked. And there he was worrying that he was going to be a bad dad. The fears he had were nothing compared to the fact that the kid was going to have a conniving liar for a mother. Or the new revelation that he may not know the kid at all.

"No, I know you'll want to be part of the baby's life. I'll let you see the baby, but it'll have to be on my terms, so Scott doesn't find out."

On her terms? She'd rather spin an elaborate web of lies than tell the truth. He didn't even know what to say. He didn't want to hear anymore of that sick shit. Did she really realize what she was saying? She was playing Scott stupid, and she was asking him to go along with it. Did this just come to her? Was this some kind of punishment for Ororo? Or had this been her plan all along and she just waited until now to tell him? He never could tell with Jean. She was just that damn capricious.

"Get the fuck out," he finally said, jerking her up from the couch. He didn't care if he hurt her or not. He wanted her out and he wanted her out now. He opened the door and pushed her out, slamming the door in her face. He sat back down on the couch and dropped his head in his hands. Then, for the first since he was a child, he cried.

———

**Author's Notes:** Fast updater? Me? LOL. I wish. The muses are just on a roll for right now. Anyhow, I'll be out of town for a little while. Yeah, I know. I'm always going out of town. What can I say? I love to travel. Anyhow, I don't know if I'll be updating or not while I'm gone. I will have my laptop, of course, because my muses are on a creative roll. We'll see what happens.


	15. El Visitante

**_Chapter Fifteen  
El Visitante_**

Ororo yawned, opening her eyes and stretching lazily. The sun beamed warmly on her face. She could hear the shower running, and she smiled to herself. She hugged one of her pillows to her body, as she thought about the night before. Joaquín made her feel amazing, and she had almost missed out on it because she almost chickened out.

She'd been the one who initiated the act, the aggressive one, but by the time he had her stripped completely of everything, she'd started to have her misgivings about having sex with him. Her boldness gave way to shyness, and for a moment, she felt like jumping up from the bed and locking herself in the bathroom.

She'd been afraid that she was making a mistake with him. It wouldn't be the first time she made this sort of mistake. What if it she came out of it disappointed? What if she disappointed him in some way? What if she was just using him to get over Logan? What if they were just making one big mistake, period? A million different thoughts had run through her head, and she hadn't been able to find the words she needed to say to convey those feelings to him. And she was glad.

He sensed when she started closing up on him because he took it slower with her. He took the route of slow seduction, kissing her fingertips, massaging the soles of her feet, allowing her to dictate his actions. He was so patient, so gentle. Never demanding, always asking. If she didn't want it, he didn't want it. It was so sweet she thought she might cry. It was different from being with Logan, who was always in control of what happened between them, but wasn't it she who gave Logan that control?

The sound of knocking brought her out of her thoughts, and she stood from the bed, pulling on her robe. She hastily combed her fingers through her hair. She took her own precious time going downstairs to answer the door. For once, the world could wait for her. When she opened the door, a broad smile covered her face.

"Yukio! What are you doing here?" Ororo asked, pulling the other woman into a hug. She thought Yukio was in Australia somewhere doing goddess knows what.

Yukio's life was one big adventure. She was always off somewhere doing something wild. She was determined to see everything life had to offer. When Ororo was younger, before she married, sometimes she would let Yukio talk her into doing the craziest things. Maybe, if she'd been a little smarter, she would've taken Yukio's advice and never married Bishop.

"I wanted to see how you were doing. It's been so long since we spent any time together." Yukio said.

She was right. They had seen each other in what seemed like ages. They spoke regularly and exchanged letters. Ororo was always getting a letter from Yukio from somewhere exotic. It didn't surprise her one bit that Yukio had just popped up. Yukio always showed up when she was least expected, but Ororo always welcomed her. It was always a treat to see Yukio. You just knew something spontaneous was about to happen when she showed up.

"Come in! Come in!" Ororo said. She ushered Yukio into the house, closing the door behind her. Soft footsteps padding down the stairs caught the women's attention. Both turned to look at Joaquín, as he came walking down the stairs. A dark blue towel clung haphazardly to his waist. Yukio cut her eyes Ororo's way, a small smile starting to form on her lips. Ororo already knew what Yukio was thinking, and well, she was half right. He walked over to Ororo and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Yukio, this is Joaquín. Joaquín, my friend Yukio." Ororo said.

"_Buenos días_," he said, kissing Yukio's hand. He winked at her and made his way to the kitchen. Yukio's hand stayed suspended in midair for a moment, as she looked after Joaquín. Then, she started to go in the kitchen after him until Ororo grabbed her arm.

"Hands off, Yukio." Ororo said. Yukio gave her a fake pout, and Ororo couldn't help giggling just a little. She felt eighteen again.

"I guess I don't have to ask what you were doing last night." Yukio said laughing. "You get rid of Bish and upgrade to walking sex. I like your style. Is that the next Mr. Munroe?"

Ororo rolled her eyes, slapping Yukio on the arm playfully. She wasn't even thinking about getting married again. _Been there, done that_, she said to herself. She just wanted to be with someone who wanted to be with her. She wouldn't say that she would never get married again, though. You never knew where fate would take you.

She led Yukio into the living room. Yukio immediately plopped down in the couch, sprawling her limbs in every direction possible. Ororo took a seat in the chair closest to the couch that Yukio lounged in. "When did you get into town?" Ororo asked.

"Last night."

"Did you try to call?" Ororo remembered the call from the night before. She hoped that it hadn't been Yukio trying to get in contact with her, but she didn't think so. Yukio was always upfront, and Ororo knew that if it had been Yukio who called last night she would already know.

"No, I was going to, but it was so late. Looks like I wouldn't have gotten an answer, anyway." Yukio said with a snicker. "You should call Jean up and we should go do something."

Ororo had been dreading those words, but she knew they were coming. Jean wasn't as close to Yukio as she was, but they liked each other well enough. It had taken some time for the two of them to come to terms with one another. Their opinions differed greatly, and at first, they had a hard time accepting one another. Ororo, on the other hand, had always appreciated having the different views of the same problem.

"Well..." Ororo said, turning her eyes away from Yukio. "Jean and I aren't really on speaking terms right now, so it'll just be the two of us."

"What? I don't think I heard you right. Did you say that you and Jean were not speaking to each other?" Yukio asked incredulously, sitting up in the couch. Ororo felt her face burning, as she thought back to the brief conversation she had with Jean.

"You heard right."

"I don't believe it. You and Jean are practically inseperable. I've never even seen the two of you argue about anything. What happened?"

"It's a long story."

"Good for us I have a little time on my hands." Yukio said. She kicked off her shoes and slipped her feet under her. "Get that cute man-slave to bring us some coffee or something. Make sure he wears that towel."

"Joaquín will be leaving for work in a little while. I'll shower and dress after he leaves. Then, I'll tell you everything you've missed over breakfast." Ororo promised.

"Sounds like a date."

Ororo showered shower slowly after Joaquín left, letting the hot water run over her body as she contemplated what she would tell Yukio. She knew by telling Yukio everything that happened, she would provide a new perspective on the situation. She knew she could count on Yukio to be honest with her, even if she didn't want to hear the truth. But that was the thing, she didn't know if she wanted to hear what needed to be said. She would feel better believing her version of the truth.

She let Yukio pick the restaurant, and as always, Yukio didn't disappoint her. Yukio's idea of food came covered in grease and saturated in fat. Yukio always picked the places that had character and a signed picture of Tom Jones hanging on the wall. Ororo ordered a waffle and a cup of coffee. She didn't really have much of an appetite, and she was sure she wouldn't be hungry at all once she started talking about Jean, Logan, and everything.

Ororo made Yukio promise to keep her thoughts to herself until after she finished telling her everything. She wanted to get it all out like she did with Joaquín, and she wanted to get it all out without interruption. She concentrated on picking at her waffle while she told Yukio the story. She didn't want to look at her. Yukio always wore her thoughts on her face, and Ororo didn't want to know what she was thinking just yet.

When she finished, Yukio went into her expected tirade. She told Ororo she should've kicked Logan's butt for treating her like an object instead of a woman, she should've told "prissy Ms. Jean" off for being a hypocrite. "But most importantly, Ororo, if he's who you truly want to be with, then you should be with him." Yukio said finishing off her tirade with a sympathetic smile.

"Didn't you hear a word I said about him?" Ororo asked.

"I heard everything, but you admitted from your own mouth that he was trying hard to make things right. And from what I'm hearing from you, that's really what you want from him. You're just too stubborn to take a chance."

"I just don't want to be hurt anymore, Yukio." Ororo sighed.

— — —

Logan hastily made a drink for a customer and sent him on his way. He needed a break, but he worried that if he stopped working for one moment he just might lose it. He knew he wasn't being very agreeable with the customers. He'd snapped at quite a few of them, and he hadn't been at work for more than an hour. He just wasn't feeling his best at that moment, and when he wasn't feeling great, everyone paid for it.

He rubbed his eyes roughly, trying to soothe the burning sensation in them. He hadn't slept at all the night before. After Jean left, he drowned his sorrows in more beer. He drank until he couldn't see straight, then he drank some more. He was still trying to digest those few words that Jean told him the night before.

He couldn't believe the calm, offhand way she'd told him her plan. It was as if she were telling him that she planned to buy a new dress. Did she even stop to think about the consequences of her actions? Yeah, he knew she was desperate to keep Scott from finding out the truth, but there were other feelings to consider aside from her own, feelings that were more important that her need to prove to Scott that she's a virtuous wife.

He wasn't just talking about his own feelings. He was angry enough to spit fire, but he was smart enough to know that he wasn't the only person who would suffer because of Jean's decision. Wasn't she just the least bit worried that Scott might not be the fool she wanted him to be? And even if Scott never found out, how could she live with herself knowing she was living that kind of deception? And just how was he going to be apart of a child's life that would believe that Scott was his or her father? He thought that kind of stuff only happened on soap operas.

It made his head pound to think about, or maybe, he was still getting over the effects of all the alcohol he drank. Either way, none of this was right. It just didn't make any sense. She couldn't run from this thing. She couldn't pretend like everything was right. She had to admit they made a mistake, and she had to be honest with Scott. No one could tell her what Scott might do. He may try to work things out with her. He may leave her to her own devices. But at least, she would have a clean slate, an honest restart.

Those were the things he should've said to her last night, but his mind was so clouded that he put her out rather than trying to talk some kind of sense into her. He hadn't been able to think about anything, but what she'd said to him. It was for the best that he had made her leave, anyway. If she'd stayed, there's no telling what would have happened. He needed the time to gather his thoughts, anyway. If she thought that he was just going to go along with her plans, she was sadly mistaken.

He felt a cool hand touch his tenderly, and he looked into the concern eyes of Ororo. She smiled at him sympathetically as if she already knew what was going on, and for one moment, things seemed a little better. Maybe, if he talked to her about it… Then, he shook his head and decided better of it. Maybe, she could provide him with insight, but they could never talk without something happening, whether it was good or bad. And he just didn't need her games to complicate this shit any more.

It wasn't fair to blame her for making things complicated. She hadn't made things any more complicated than he had. He was probably the reason that everything was all wrong to begin with, but his heart warred with him, especially after the realization set in that she really didn't want him and there was nothing he could do to change that. She made that quite clear the last time they talked, and after the botched call from the night before, he knew she was serious.

"Logan, are you okay?" she asked. He could hear genuine concern in her voice. Was he that obvious?

"Do I look okay?" he snapped at her. He hadn't meant to use that tone with her, but he just couldn't seem to help it. She was only trying to help. He realized from their recent talks that it was in her nature to try to help, but he wasn't ready to repeat the things Jean said to him the night before. He had half a mind to…

"It was a stupid question to ask," she said a little sheepishly, interrupting his thoughts. She moved her hand away from his, leaving only a void. "I was just being concerned, though. You looked as if you had a lot on your mind."

_More than you'll ever know_, he said to himself, but he didn't need her concern. He'd handle this problem on his own. He wouldn't want to give her any more reason to feel like she was burdening Jean. He snorted at the thought, but kept his thoughts to himself. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. She was obviously waiting for him to say something, but he had nothing to say.

"I'm not trying to pry. I am only trying to help," she said. "Look, we're walking around here acting like a couple of kids. I don't want to fight with you, and I don't want any ill feelings between us. Can't we be friends? I mean… can't we put all this behind us and start over?"

"Hell no," he said, frowning at her. A person just couldn't put something like this behind them and pretend it didn't happen. He never understood how people could do something like that because you never forget. That's why therapists were busy getting rich now because people wanted to "put it all behind them" instead of facing their problems. "We ain't friends, and we can never be friends."

The expression on her face after he said those words was enough to make him want to take them back. She looked like he just punched her in the stomach. Before he could apologize to her, she was already making her way back to the second floor bar. He was just making things better, but he hadn't asked for that little speech. Still, he could've been a bit more considerate… he supposed.

What was so wrong about what she said to him? He didn't want to act like it never happened, but if he couldn't be with her, why had he refused her offer of friendship? Simple, it would hurt too much to see her with other guys. He already hated the fact that she was with old what's-his-face, and he would just feel like his face was being rubbed in it if they were "friends." Besides, he didn't want to be her friend. He wanted to be more than that to her, but she was holding him at arm's length.

— — —

What had she been thinking trying to talk to him? She'd let Yukio pump her head full of these ideas that she could make this work if she really wanted to and look what it got her. She hadn't known what she was going to say to Logan. It was never her intentions to throw herself at his feet and plead for his forgiveness. She thought she would start slow, and see what happened. Things didn't exactly turn out how she planned.

At first, she had no plans to talk to him. She would continue to act as if they lived in completely different worlds, but she thought about what Yukio said and decided that maybe Yukio was right. Yukio reminded her that everyone was hurt in life. Nothing was guaranteed, not even love. And she knew these things in her heart, but she couldn't help the way she felt about it.

"Go get your man," Yukio said earlier on the ride back to her house. Ororo only laughed at the time. It was nice thinking about going into things headfirst, but even though Yukio offered good advice at times, she still had to be cautious. She just wasn't as brave as Yukio was.

Before work, she'd spent a little time thinking about how she would handle it all. Did she even really want to put herself through all this? And what about the way things were going with Joaquín? She was happy with Joaquín, and she didn't know if she wanted to let go of that feeling yet. Maybe, she was just holding on to him because she felt secure with him. She didn't have constant doubts in her head about Joaquín. She didn't have a million different emotions ranging from hate to love where Joaquín was concerned. He didn't make her feel like she was just some sexual object that didn't harbor any emotions.

Then, she remembered how she felt that night with Logan, how protected he made her feel when held her close, and she couldn't help smiling to herself. There was proof that he could make her feel secure. Then, she let her smile slide her from her face. It wasn't meant to be. That was just some stolen moment between them, a "could have been", if you will. When he snapped at her, he reminded her that they were just completely different.

He looked sad when she saw him like he needed someone to talk to, and they connected so well when they talked that she thought he might want to talk to her again. She knew what happened last time they talked, but they were in a crowded club. So, it had seemed safer than talking alone in her house. She just wanted him to know that she was there for him, but it seemed like he decided that he didn't care one way or another if she was or not. And her feelings were more than a little hurt after their brief exchange, but that's just the way things were.

She thought they might try to overcome whatever feelings they had for one another and be friends. Friends, ha! What a joke. She should've known better than to try that. The "let's-be-friends" speech was by far one of the most self-serving things ever invented. The person who was giving the speech was given a false sense that they were doing something "good" while the person who was receiving the speech couldn't believe the other's audacity. And she had fallen into the hype. Goddess, what was she thinking?

He was so right when he said they couldn't be friends. They never started their relationship as friends, so why in the world would they want to be friends now? She just thought it would be better for the both of them if they tried to move beyond everything that's happened between them. Maybe, she wasn't really disappointed by his answer. Maybe, it was just the tone he took with her. Because truthfully, she didn't want to be his friend either.

She wanted something more.

— — —

**Author's Notes:** What's this? An update! Sorry much didn't happen. This was just one of those necessary gateway chapters for what's going to happen next. I may be able to bang out another chapter in a couple of days since, but don't hold your breath. If not, I'll be going home soon, well soon enough, and updates will be forthcoming then. Promise. I may have a couple of one-shots to appease you, but don't count on that either. Please excuse any glaring mistakes. I really just skimmed this. -t


	16. The Goodbye

**_Chapter Sixteen  
The Goodbye_**

These women were going to be the death of him. If he died tomorrow, he didn't want some stupid, saccharine, pseudo-optimistic one-liner engraved on his headstone. He wanted the truth on there. He wanted everyone to know how much of a fuck-up he really was. It should say something like, "Here lies Logan. He died because he couldn't get his shit together." He'd be satisfied with that.

Ororo slinked around the club, looking as if she were on the verge of tears. God, if he were her, he would've kicked himself between the legs and demanded an apology, but she was much gentler than he was. He didn't feel he was completely wrong about what he said, but there were better ways to say it. It wasn't his fault that he'd been born with a blunt tongue. But he could've taken it easy on her. He knew he should apologize to her, but his pride wouldn't let him.

He had tried to swallow his pride once with her, and where had it gotten him? Nowhere. And he knew he should leave it all alone, but he couldn't help the feeling that something more was meant to happen between them. This really wasn't how this was supposed to all go down. He just had that gut feeling. There was more left to the story.

Jean, on the other hand, was flittering around with this oh-so-smug look, or maybe, he just imagined it because he was pissed like hell at her. It was probably just his imagination, but Jean had been acting very strange, lately. If pregnancy was what made her act so stupid, this should be her first and last child. Next time she got pregnant, she just might try to destroy the world or something.

He wished she would just cut the bullshit. That's all this whole thing was, a bunch of unnecessary bullshit. Yeah, they'd made a very stupid mistake, and now she was trying to make it worse. He didn't know what could possibly be going through her mind. Why was she doing any of what she was doing? Was it spite? Genuine fear? Temporary insanity brought on by pregnancy?

Well, if she thought he'd said all he had to say, she was wrong as hell. He found himself following Jean back to her office. "I need to talk to you," he said to her, as he closed the door to her office.

———

Ororo tried to keep a friendly face, as she tended to the customers, but her smile felt about as artificial as it probably looked. She dropped two glasses when she lost herself in thought, and Remy joked that she was horning in on his area of expertise. She just wanted to go home and hug a pillow, eat some ice cream, or something as equally emotionally convenient.

Logan's words had hurt her more than she cared to admit. She just couldn't get it off her mind no matter how much she wanted to. That's what she got for even considering anything Yukio had to say about relationships. What did Yukio really know about love? She would make sure to tell her everything she didn't know about it, as soon as she got a break.

She was better off not listening to her friends' advice. She knew they meant well, but this is how things usually ended when she did listen to them. She shook her head. She couldn't blame Yukio for this. As easy as it was, she knew that it wasn't Yukio's fault that everything was so fucked up. It'd been fucked up from the beginning, and she couldn't expect any easy solutions to the problem.

Maybe, she wasn't supposed to get a solution at all. This could be the way that things were supposed to go. Maybe, things were never supposed to be resolved between them. Or maybe this was as resolved as things were ever going to get between them.

She had to let him go. She wasn't telling herself anything she'd already told herself a million times. Logan had been a crux. In some ways, he'd been good for her. In more ways, he'd been bad for her. And she could think of so many reasons why she shouldn't be with him, and she could think of one reason why she should be with him that made all the reasons for not being with him null.

"Let him go," she said to herself, clenching her teeth together. Even after everything that happened, including what he said to her, she couldn't seem to give it up completely. She reminded herself that it was painful when she was away from him, but it was torture being with him, too. She didn't know how she planned to get over him if she had to see him constantly.

She was going to eventually crack if she continued to let things go on like this, especially with the constant bantering with herself where Logan was concerned. Maybe, she was being the jerk about the situation. Why couldn't she just sit down with Logan and talk this through completely, get it all out in the open? No, why couldn't she just let it all go? Goddess, she had to let it go. She was letting it go.

So, this was her throwing in the towel. No more. She couldn't stand it, anymore. She'd had all the frustration she was going to take from this situation for one lifetime. She was just too tired to keep fighting with it. She was just prolonging her sadness by hanging on to all this. She had better things to do with her life. Yukio was in her life. Joaquín was in her life. They made her happy, and she would work harder on being happy.

She just couldn't leave things unresolved between Jean and her. She might've reached that peak of resolution with Logan, but there was still much to be said with Jean. While she didn't anticipate that they would end up teary-eyed and hugging, she hoped they were able to come to some sort of agreement, and she decided that time was right now.

She knew now was an inopportune time, but she really had some things she needed to get off her chest. This would be the only time she could really catch Jean. And Jean may still decide to never talk to her again, but at least, she'd made some effort to salvage some type of affable rapport between them. She walked toward Jean's office, slowly, thinking and rethinking what she would say to her.

She heard angry voices coming from Jean's office. Logan and Jean, they were arguing. Didn't anyone get along anymore? She decided to just turn around and go back to her post, taking it as a sign that she didn't need to talk to Jean right then, until she heard Logan say, "You can't tell Scott that baby is his."

Ororo's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She'd been curious as to how they were going to handle Scott. She'd had many theories on what would happen with that, but she never would have expected that one. She'd known Jean for years, and if someone had told her that Jean was capable of such thought, she would've called him or her a liar.

To think that Jean would tell Scott it was his baby! Didn't she value Scott more than that? She probably thought she was protecting him, but she couldn't really believe that they'd be the picture-perfect family with something like that hanging over her head. She listened to the conversation between them a few more minutes.

Jean's tone was so calm, so eerily calm. Ororo didn't believe she was in her right mind. She couldn't be if she truly planned to go through with that plan, and to listen to Logan plead and plead with her, it was enough to break her heart. He really did want to be part of the child's life, and Jean was basically saying she was going to snatch that away from him.

She wondered if this is what had been on Logan's mind earlier or if Jean just told him that before she walked up. Why was she listening to any of this? She should let them sort out their own problems. It was none of her concern. She could just walk away and pretend that she hadn't heard a thing at all, but she knew she couldn't.

"I'll tell Scott the truth myself," she heard Logan say to Jean angrily after a few minutes. And she silently cheered him on. One of them had to have enough sense to know they had to tell the truth.

"No, you _won't_. I know you too well. You wouldn't do anything so stupid." Jean replied with a hard chuckle.

Ororo had heard enough. She couldn't believe that Jean was actually considering that. "Jean, I can't believe you." Ororo said, barging into the office interrupting the two. Both Jean and Logan turned to glare at her, angrily.

"So, you've resorted to eavesdropping, now." Jean said accusingly.

"That isn't fair to anyone, Jean, especially not Scott." Ororo said, ignoring Jean's comment. Hell yeah, she'd been eavesdropping. It hadn't been intentional on her part, but it happened. That should've been the least of Jean's worries at the moment, though. Nothing was more important than the decision she was making at that moment.

"I didn't ask you." Jean said nastily.

Ororo was slightly taken aback by the tone Jean had used with her, but she was right. She didn't ask her, but if Jean ever cared about her, she would listen to her, even though she was angry with her. She could hold whatever grudge she wanted against her, but she couldn't continue to weave these lies. She was going to destroy three lives with her stubbornness. She might fool Scott for the time being, if she had her way. But the truth eventually came to the light. She knew that from firsthand experience.

She wouldn't watch Jean ruin the people around her, the people who were closest to her. She wouldn't be a part of any of this, anymore. If Jean wanted her out of the way so bad, she would get her wish. "I _quit_." Ororo said, slamming her fist on the desk. She turned on her heel, quickly, leaving Logan and Jean gaping after her.

———

Logan looked back toward Jean, after Ororo left. Jean was just as shocked, too, but she tried to cover up her surprise with a blasé wave of her hand. What he wanted to know was why the hell was he still standing there in front of Jean when Ororo was the one leaving? He froze in his tracks for a moment, unsure of what to day.

Should he really run after Ororo? It wasn't a matter of pride now. It was a matter of should when he was trying to get things straight with Jean. If he went in search of Ororo, would that be proof that he considered her more important than this? Nothing was more important than this, but…

Jean was looking at him, as if he was going crazy. "What's wrong with you, Logan?" she asked with a frown. He wanted to tell her to shut up he was thinking, and he couldn't think while she was talking because she distracted him. He didn't, though. He was wasting time. If he was going to continue to talk to Jean, he'd better get to talking. If he was going after Ororo, he'd better get to walking.

"Logan, snap out of it," he heard Jean say to him. He looked at her. He reasoned that Jean would always be there, but Ororo was leaving. She was important, too. He turned and walked off in the direction that Ororo had disappeared in.

He caught Ororo in the break room. She was pulling on her coat in a fury, muttering to herself, angrily. After she said she quit, he stood there shocked. He expected her to say a lot of things, but he hadn't expected to up and quit like that. She jerked opened her locker and started pulling things out of it.

"Are you leavin' because of me?" he asked, and she jumped, turning around to look at him.

"I didn't hear you come in," she said. She turned away from him again, slowly taking her things out of the locker. "And no, I am not leaving because of you."

"Then, why are you goin'?" he asked.

She paused for a moment, then continued pulling things out of her locker. "Because I'm just sick of the whole thing," she said, trying to sound unconcerned. What was with the nonchalant act everyone was putting on?

"So, it _is_ because of me," he said grimly. Why wouldn't she just admit it? Was she worried about hurting his feelings? Because if she was, that was the last thing she had to worry about. Yeah, it would sting, but he'd rather she be honest with him.

"No," she said, turning to him again. Her voice held more fervor this time. "It was inevitable. Everything has been leading up to this moment. It's just time for me to move on with my life. Jean brought me here to keep me from moping, to see there was still some fun left in life. I've learned that, and it's time for me to go."

"I don't think you're bein' honest."

"I'm not," she said with a sigh. She sat on the bench in front of the lockers. "I just can't be part of this anymore. Everything is just falling apart, and I feel this will be better resolved if I'm not here. It's not just you, though, Logan. It's everything. I can't take it anymore."

It wasn't _just_ about him, so that meant he did play some role in this decision. He sat on the bench beside her, and she looked down at her hands. "Is this what you been plannin' all along, to just quit?" he asked.

She shook her head rapidly. "No, I hadn't planned to quit at all. The words were out before I could stop them," she looked up at him. He could see the honesty in her eyes.

"I'm sorry about what I said to you earlier. I was just blowin' off some steam." It was his turned to look down at his hands.

"You spoke the truth," she said. "I don't blame you for not wanting to be friends. It was a stupid thing to say, anyway."

He wouldn't say it was a stupid thing to say. It was more of a coward's way out of a relationship. He knew. He'd used the same excuse before, but he had never felt like this about any of the others. Still, he didn't want her to think what he said was because he wanted to get back at her.

"I can't be your friend, but it ain't out of spite or nothin'. I can't be your friend because I can't stand the thought of you with someone else." There he'd said it. He was just too stubborn, always wanting things to go his way or no way, and things with her were no exception.

"Oh," she said quietly.

He hated when people said "oh" and nothing else. He never knew how to distinguish what it meant. Was than an "oh, you're a dumb ass?" Or "oh, I don't know what to say?" Or was it some other kind of "oh?" But she had this sort of half-smile on her face, so maybe, she wasn't thinking he was a dumb ass.

"I was really pissed off because of Jean. She told me her brilliant idea last night." After he'd come from the bar, after he tried to call her and got that fucker. He told Ororo all about how Jean had come to his apartment, had the audacity to try to sleep with him, and then pull that shit with the baby. Jean had gone completely nuts.

"Logan, I don't know your feelings for Jean, but you do have to tell Scott if she won't. He deserves to know." Ororo said. He knew that Scott needed to know.

Logan snorted. That was the one thing Jean was right about. He'd never tell Scott. "He don't need to hear that from me. She should be the one to tell him. If I tell him, I'll be the bitch tryin' to rub it in his face or some shit."

"Jean should tell him, but she's obviously made up her mind not to do so. He really should know about the whole thing from the start of the affair instead of hearing it through rumors. But I guess it really isn't my place to tell adults how to handle their affairs," she said with a disapproving tone."

"What will you do now?" he asked her, changing the subject. He didn't want the thought of Jean and Scott to overshadow what was going on now. This was something monumental, a moment when she wasn't running from him.

"I don't know. I decided not to sell the house, after all. I might just take that much needed vacation, though, to sort through some things," she said.

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Of course you will," she said laughing, as if he'd asked the stupidest thing ever. He guessed that sudden need to get away had died… somewhat.

"Ro…" he said, and this time she didn't try to rip his head off for calling her that. He reached for her hand, but she pulled back from him gently.

"Don't. I need you to let go. Let me go, just let me go," she pleaded with him. He didn't want to, but he remembered that she said if it was meant to be it would be. She stood from the bench. "Goodbye, Logan," she kissed him softly on the cheek.

And just like that, she was gone.


	17. El Conclusión

**_Chapter Seventeen  
El Conclusión_**

She could have killed Logan, if she wasn't so sure that this was something she wanted to do, needed to do, for herself. It took only a few seconds for him to turn her emotions upside-down, again. When they talked, she realized they weren't completely wrong for each other. No, they were just right for one another. He'd been saying it all along, and she'd been fighting it.

Somewhere, deep inside, she'd always known that. He never intended for her to interpret his actions—what happened in the club, what happened in her bedroom—the way she did. However, she had because he had never led her to believe otherwise, but things had gotten the way they were because she'd been too afraid to let him go.

She never told him "no." At least, she never told him "no" and really meant it. She was the one who kept letting him back in when she should've made him stay away. Instead, she let her needs for sexual companionship rule her actions, and in the end, it came back to burn her emotionally.

Still, she couldn't completely forgive him of his actions—or rather his inactions. When he believed she would be around forever, he never took the opportunity to make her believe that she was worth more to him. It wasn't until she said she leaving, moving on with her life, that he felt the need to tell her how much she meant to him. If she never said she was leaving, would he have ever told her how he felt about her?

He allowed her to believe that she was just a bedmate and nothing more. She wouldn't doubt his feelings for her, but she still needed time to come to terms with everything, including her feelings for him. She needed to be away from him, to clear her mind of him. Now that she wasn't working at The Phoenix, she wouldn't be around him. But to know that he was only a stone's throw away left her yearning for him.

A little distance and a little time would make all the difference because she did doubts her feelings about him. Would she still feel the same once she had time to sort this all out? Would he? Maybe, it was her own cowardice pushing her forward. Maybe, she really was too afraid to explore anything with him, but she couldn't allow herself to be with him. Not right now.

The whole situation had just been too painful. They played too many games, and she was the one who was left feeling confused. Things could've been simple between them, but their actions made things complicated for them. Maybe, she was crazy for believing anything could really happened between them, anyway, despite what their feelings might say. What were feelings away?

She felt there was still so much she needed to say to Logan, but she couldn't make herself face him, again. If she did, she knew she would stay, and she needed this.

_She needed this._

She shouldn't still be debating this issue with herself. Her mind was made up. Besides, she finally found someone who really felt what she felt, but she just didn't know. She had so much fun with Joaquín, but there was something missing. Maybe, she wasn't completely able to give herself to him because of Logan.

She didn't go straight home. Instead, she went to Yukio's hotel. She'd told Yukio that she could've stayed with her, but Yukio said something along the lines of three being a crowd while smirking at Ororo knowingly. She hadn't really expected Yukio to be around her hotel. They were supposed to catch up with one another after Ororo's shift, but Yukio surprised her by being in her room. Granted, she was getting ready to go out when Ororo showed up.

"I thought you didn't get off until much later." Yukio said, running her fingers through her damp, short hair, as Ororo entered the room. Ororo sat on the edge of the bed.

"I wasn't, but I quit," she said. She told Yukio everything that happened at the club, including what happened with Logan. She still couldn't digest the fact that Jean planned to deceive Scott. You don't deceive people you love like that.

"I can't believe Jean, but I'm not surprised at any of the things you've told me about her. It's impossible to be that perfect, even Jean." Yukio said, rolling her eyes. She put her hand on her hip and said, "I think you should go back down to that club and tell Jean what's really on your mind. Don't hold back. Use a few profanities for emphasis, especially the word fuck. How much more love can you two lose for one another?"

"No, I wouldn't want to upset her." Ororo said, thinking of the baby. Now was definitely not a good time to have a screaming match with Jean. Besides, she liked to think that she beyond all that. Oh, she did want to really get it all out with Jean, but what was the point?

"You're too nice for your own goddamn good. Or maybe you're just too non-confrontational." Yukio grumbled. At that point, Yukio was talking to herself while she dug through her suitcase. Ororo was vaguely aware that Yukio had jumped subjects and was talking about Logan. "…then again, you did always have a thing for guys who had a reputation of being tough. Surprised the fuck out of me when you ended up marrying someone like Bishop. But I guess you chose him because he was dependable."

Ororo chewed on her lip in thought. "Let's go to Barcelona." Ororo said, interrupting Yukio. Ororo stood from the bed and approached Yukio.

"What?" Yukio said, pausing, raising her eyebrows at Ororo. She stood up slowly, looking at Ororo as if she just sprouted a third eye.

"Let's just do it. Let's go." Ororo said, grabbing Yukio's hand, excitedly. She would feel so much braver about her decision if Yukio was there with her. She knew she could always rely on Yukio to lend her strength. Yukio never turned down a new adventure, and she could only imagine tasting life the way Yukio did.

"Who are you? And what have you done with Ororo?" Yukio asked, snatching her hand away from Ororo. "Ororo, are you in there? If you can hear me, come out! Some crazy woman's taken over your body."

"I'm serious. I need to do this." Ororo said, and Yukio's look of questioning melted into that of empathy. "I have never been so sure about anything in my life, Yukio."

"Well… I've never been to Barcelona before." Yukio said with a smile. She knew she could count on Yukio. "Let's go tonight!"

"Tonight! We have to make the proper arrangements first." Ororo said with wide-eyes. She had to tell Joaquín she was going. She had to make flight plans, pack, book a room… She forgot that being spontaneous meant just that when it came to Yukio.

Yukio nodded, satisfied. "Now, that's the Ororo I know."

———

Fucked up again. Ororo didn't seem upset when she left, just determined. He was barely able to finish working after Ororo left. He felt like storming into Jean's office and demanding she ask Ororo to come back, but he couldn't do that. Did he blame her for being fed up with everything? He should've known it was coming sooner or later.

It was like one big soap opera, and they were the lead players. He was tired of it himself, but in order to put a stop to all the drama, things needed to be sorted out—particularly things with Jean. None of this would be happening if he'd learn to keep it in his pants. He hadn't expected all that to happen because of sex.

Once again, he found himself wishing he never knew Ororo. He would prefer if he didn't know Ororo rather than knowing her and not being able to have her. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than not loved at all was out of their mind. He wouldn't know these feelings if he hadn't met her. That would have suited him fine.

Maybe, he wasn't supposed to be happy; his life was full of too many complications. He used to believe that he wasn't supposed to be happy, anyway. That was part of the reason he lived his life the way he did. Then, she came into his life, and when he was finally man enough to admit how he felt about her, he had believed that he wasn't destined to be completely unhappy the rest of his life.

A part of him felt there was nothing he could do about what happened between them, now. Maybe, it was his destiny, his fate. He believed that he had been born unlucky. His whole life he had struggled to make something of himself, to try to outlive that miserable future he'd seen for himself. In some aspects he had, he was still alive and doing pretty well for himself, but in some aspects of his life, he was still failing—_miserably_.

But now he saw that thought was nothing more than a illusion because, maybe, he wanted to be happy. He wouldn't exactly say he was the most depressed person in the world, but he wasn't all sunshine and smiles either. He was just very cynical where life was concerned. Experiences in life had left him distrustful, he guessed. No, he would allow the pessimist in him tell him that this was all there was.

He was willing to take a chance on her. Cynicism be damned. She wanted her to let her go, but this wasn't the end. Somehow, he had to make this right.

———

"This is it." Ororo told herself as she closed her last bag. She was really going to do this. Two weeks had passed since she made the suggestion to Yukio that they go to Barcelona. Her heart was already thumping in anticipation. She couldn't believe she was actually going to leave behind everything she'd ever known. Sure, she'd be back, but this was her first real adventure. She started calling it her "emancipation."

She didn't know what would happen once she got there or after the experience was all over, but she was hoping for the best. She hoped it really did grant her the freedom that she'd been longing for. She hoped that when she did return, she would be in a better frame of mind, that everything would make sense to her.

Joaquín said he would meet them in Spain at a later date when his classes wrapped up. Goddess, did she really plan to be there that long? Well, from the looks of all the bags she had, she did. It wasn't as if she had anything else to do. She would enjoy her vacation. Joaquín insisted that they stay in his condo. He said somebody needed to put it to use, since he was away.

"So how is Mr. Wonderful?" Yukio asked her. Ororo chuckled, lightly. She'd just gotten off the phone with him, and she was still smiling. She did that a lot these days. Yukio rarely called Joaquín by his given name unless they were face to face, and even then, she sometimes called him some pet name or another. Ororo sat on the bed beside her bag.

"He's okay," she said, then a fleeting thought of Logan crossed her mind. That happened from time to time when she least expected it. She hadn't seen him since that night she quit, but he would randomly press on her thoughts.

"What's wrong?" Yukio asked.

"You know, I don't really understand my emotions where Joaquín's concerned at all. First, I'd swear I was in love with Logan. Then, I'm not…" Ororo was quiet for a moment. Goddess, she'd never admitted that to anyone, but if she couldn't tell Yukio, who could she tell. "Well, maybe I do love him."

"Uh-huh. Maybe, you latching on to Joaquín is a means of trying to right the way your heart feels, right now." Yukio said. Ororo had thought of that. Maybe, the feelings she was having for Joaquín were forced because she wanted to feel complete, in a sense.

"I don't know to be honest. Sometimes, I think I have deep feelings about him." Ororo said, uncertainly. Her eyebrows furrowed. She'd never admitted that aloud either.

"Are you sure?" Yukio asked, not sounding completely convinced.

"I don't know. He makes me feel good, and I want to have that feeling forever." Ororo said, honestly. She did love the way he made her feel, as if she were special and wanted by someone. "Goddess, I wish I were still ten-years-old. This would be so much easier. Considering at ten, I was making boys eat worms." Ororo added, wistfully, only half joking.

"I made boys eat slugs. They were grosser." Yukio said with a laugh. Then, her face took on a serious expression. "Seriously, Ororo, you have to do what you know is really going to make you happy. If you're just with Joaquín because you can't face what's happening with you and Logan, you have to let him go. If you really do care about him and want something to come of this, then tackle it head on. If Logan is what you want, well, I don't have to go on with this, do I?"

Ororo smiled at her friend. She was absolutely right.

———

Logan leaned against the bar thoroughly bored. It was a slow night, but then again, the storm of the century was happening live. You could always tell the dedicated clubbers. They would still come to the club, even if the second coming were going on. Hell, they'd probably think that was a party, too. Jean should just close up for the night, but she was stubborn. Any business was good business. Whatever.

Logan looked around expectantly for Ororo when Joaquín took a seat in front of him, but quickly found himself disappointed when that didn't happen. Joaquín sat, silently, sipping on a drink. Logan just continued to eye him, refusing to move from his post. He guessed he could see what Ororo might see in him. He did have that sensitive look. He even drank his drink like a pansy. He half-expected him to hold up a pinky.

It was kind of uncomfortable standing there with Joaquín right in front of him. He was face to face with the enemy, and maybe, if he were in a nastier mood, he would've said something rude to the man. Was he there to gloat? Is that why he'd chosen to sit right in front of him? He didn't think that was quite right, since there was no gloating going on.

"She leaves tomorrow, 9a.m." Joaquín said, suddenly, to him over his glass. Logan looked at him perplexed. "Ororo's flight to Barcelona leaves tomorrow. You might want to be there."

Ororo was really going through with it. He never doubted that she would, but there was just something about it that didn't seem real, as if that day would never really come. However, Joaquín was telling that day was almost here. He tried to gauge his feelings on what Joaquín had just said. He could only compare the feeling to being run over by a truck.

"Why are you helpin' me?" Logan asked. He sure as hell wouldn't be helping him if the tables were turned. If things were different, he would be telling Joaquín to go fuck himself instead of giving him that information.

"I am not helping you. I'm giving you a chance. If you allow her to leave, you will never see her again." Joaquín said. Logan's chest tightened at the man's words. "Though, I doubt it will do much good."

"The fuck?" Logan said. What the hell was this bastard talking about?

Joaquín let out a sigh, putting down his glass, and Logan tensed, as the man slowly turned to face him. He was half-expecting him to attack him, but he only pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, "I want her to be happy, and if you're what makes her happy, then I will not stand in the way of that happiness."

"Let's get back to the '_it won't do much good_' part. No, better yet, let's talking about this '_never see her again_' part." Logan said. He was trying to decipher some kind of malice in the other man's words, in his actions, but there were none that he could detect. However, he knew that some nastiness was meant to be subtle.

"It just means, don't let this pass you by because this chance might never come again." Joaquín said, placing his glass back on the bar. He didn't say anything else, as he stood from the bar. Logan watched him disappear through the crowd. Without so much as saying a word to anyone, Logan walked out of the club.

———

"C'mon," he muttered to himself, trying to keep his control. It figures someone would decide to have a head-on collision on the day he had to get to Ororo. He pounded a fist against the handle of his bike. If he'd been smart, he just would have spent the night at the airport, but he'd been under too much pressure the night before to think of that. _Planes never leave on time, anyway_, he tried to tell himself to calm himself.

He hadn't been able to get in contact with her the night before. After he left work, he went by her house, but it was dark. She didn't answer the door. He figured she was staying somewhere close to the airport, but short of calling every hotel in the phone book, there was nothing he could do to find her. By the time he got back to his apartment, he was just three seconds short of falling apart.

He finally managed to get a few hours worth of sleep, and when he woke up, he nearly had a heart attack because he thought he overslept. He hadn't, but now he had traffic to contend with. A part of him told him he should just turn around and go back home, but another part of him was actually optimistic.

When he finally made it to the airport, he rushed through the throng of people, pushing and shoving to get to her gate, leaving a path of toppled people in his wake. Her flight hadn't left yet. At least, planes being late were one thing he could count on. He tried to ignore the feeling of dread in his stomach, swallowing hard.

His heart leapt when he saw her waiting her turn in line. A woman in front of her handed the attendant her ticket. She turned to Ororo and said something before walking through the tunnel. Ororo was next. He was so close, but so far away.

"Ororo!" he called, watching her hand the attendant her ticket. She looked over her shoulder, hearing him call to her. At first, her face registered shock, but then she smiled serenely at him, raising her hand in a wave. She disappeared through the tunnel. "Wait!" he called after her, but he knew it was too late. He tried to push his way through the line of people.

"Sir, I can't let you through without a ticket," the attendant said, blocking his path, as he attempted to follow her. He tried to push his way through, but airport security got involved and everything nearly turned into a huge mess. Fortunately, they didn't throw him out. They only warned him that they didn't allow that kind of behavior and flashed a little gun. He almost asked one of them to just shoot him.

In the end, he stood in front of the large, glass windows, his palm face down on the pane, his forehead touching the cool glass. As he watched he plane take-off, he called her name in his heart. He sat in one of the chairs across from the window after her plane disappeared from view, gripping his hair between his fingers. He didn't know how long he sat like that, but when he looked up again, it was dark outside.

It was all over.

———

**Author's Notes:** Oh my, I seemed to have confused many people. That last chapter wasn't the end. I didn't know it sounded so… _final_. Now, that I look at it. It would've made a nice ending, but that's not the end. Really, I'm sorry, everyone. If you really want to think of that as the end, I don't mind, though. Next chapter _is_ the last chapter. It's only an epilogue, so it'll probably be very short. This was slated to be longer, but I cut some of the original ideas because I anticipated that I might write a sequel. Now, I'm not so sure. I still may write a sequel using the ideas that I omitted… or I may use those ideas to construct something new altogether. I have the technology. I can rebuild it. I appreciate all your reviews. You were the ones who made this story so much fun to write.


	18. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

He was in Spain, in the airport, flipping through his English/Spanish dictionary that he was just about ready to hurl across the damn counter. At least, he was there. That was all that counted. He thought back to that day he decided to come. It had taken some choice words from Victor to make him move his ass.

He'd been at home, telling himself that he had to get out of this funk. He hadn't been out of his house since Ororo left—two weeks and counting. He hadn't done much of anything since she left. He rarely slept, didn't eat. It was a scene straight out one of those movies they made for women, which he would never laugh at again. He really didn't want to go on.

Victor bust through his door, literally. He took one look at the door, one look at Victor, and turned his eyes back to the television. "You're payin' for that." Logan said without looking at Victor.

"Fuck that. The hell's wrong with you? Jean's been callin' and shit, worryin' your stupid ass was dead or somethin'." Victor asked at him. Logan calmly picked up the remote and turned the television. Victor was yelling like a madman. He always knew that bastard was completely gone in the head.

"Well, I ain't dead." _Yet_, a mundane part of him added silently. "So, just go back and tell her that I'm okay."

"Tell her your goddamn self." Victor said. Logan didn't respond. Instead, he gazed at the television intently. Victor turned his eyes toward the television. "Oprah? You're watchin' Oprah? What kinda sick shit…?" Victor moved his huge bulk in front of the television.

"If you don't move your ass…" Logan growled.

"It's 'bout time you showed some kind of life. The Logan I know wouldn't sit here and mope while watchin' motherfuckin' Oprah. Oprah! Have some dignity, will ya. The Logan I know would stop being a pussy and get his goddamn woman."

But he _liked_ Oprah. And he would've had bon-bons and a house robe on, too, if he had either of those in his possession. He was just about to tell Victor as much until he realized what the asshole had said to him. What was even funnier was the fact that he was right. He wouldn't tell him that, though. Why was he sitting there moping around? He said he was going to make it right, and he damn well was.

What was worse than moping around? Giving up, that's what. So what if she was about a billion miles away. What was stopping him from being a billion miles away _with_ her?

"This don't mean I like you." Victor said before leaving Logan's apartment that day. "And if you hurt her, I swear to God I'll kill you, so don't fuck this up, runt."

And that's how he ended up in Spain, looking up words he couldn't really pronounce. He'd actually taken some advice from Victor Creed of all damn people, but it made sense. Well, he hadn't leave for Spain immediately after he Creed's visit. He had needed a little time to get himself together. Whether Ororo came back or not, he had to get his life on the right path.

His first stop before Spain was the club. When he walked through the doors, he saw relief wash over Jean's face. Maybe, she did care about him a little. He let her fawn over him for a little while. He listened to all the "I missed you, Logan," and "Where have you been?" with little emotion. Then, he told her in no uncertain terms that if she didn't tell Scott about them by the time he got back, he would tell him his damn self.

Damn what Scott thought about him. She wasn't going to do this to him. He was going to be part of that baby's life whether she liked it or not. Her face went about ten shades red. He told her exactly how he felt about Ororo, and then her face went ten shades white. Finally, he told her that he would continue to work for her when he returned, if she wanted, but that's all there would be—work—no matter what happened.

He felt better after his talk with Jean. It was so much easier to just say the things that needed to be said instead of keeping them all inside. Then, he left for Spain. Then, he went to Spain. Now, he was trying to figure out how to say "car" in Spanish. It wasn't going so well. Finally, the woman informed him that she spoke English.

Joaquin's condo had been easy enough to find once he figured out what he was doing. He swallowed hard when he knocked on the door, expecting Joaquín to answer, but instead, the woman that he'd seen Ororo with that day in the airport. She invited him in, but he refused. It wasn't fair to come there confessing your love for another man's woman _and_ drink all his alcohol, too. It was either one or the other, but both would just be bad taste.

They weren't around, but her friend, Yukio, told him where she was. She was at some club with some name he _still_ couldn't pronounce, even after she said it, but he found it, nonetheless.

He walked into the club, heart thumping loudly in his ears, and there she was. Looking at her now, he felt like she'd been away a lifetime. She was dancing. She wore a dress so dangerously low that he feared any moment her breasts would release themselves, a split ran high up the front her dressed, revealing a just hint of black lace every time her legs moved.

Joaquín spun her out across the floor with one hand. She was a blur of brown skin, red dress, and white hair, then he spun her back toward him pulling her too his chest. She leaned into him, raising one leg against his thigh, which he placed a hand securely under, raised her hand in the air, her castanets keeping rhythm as her hips undulated in unison with Joaquín's.

She snapped her castanets keeping time with the frenzied guitar riffs. She looked happy. What he had expected? That she would be just as miserable as he was. _Right_. He was just going to turn around. He was going to hop on the first plane back to New York. Fuck all that "this is new your life" bullshit. He was buying some bon-bons and a robe. He turned around, asking himself how he could be so stupid.

Hope springs eternal. Bullshit.

"Logan?" he heard her say behind him. She'd seen him. He couldn't do this. He should keep going like she kept going when he called to her, but he turned to face her, anyway.

Fin

———

**Author's Notes:** I wrote and rewrote this one million times because I didn't know exactly how I wanted it to go. Don't much like it either, and it turned out longer than I expected (still not very long, though). Maybe because I couldn't decide what I really wanted to happen. Maybe because Sparkle kept making me laugh. I don't know. I didn't want anything that sounded too hopeful. I didn't want anything that sounded too disparaging, either. I left it open-ended.

After doing a little thinking, I have decided to write thanks to a little prodding by your wonderful words, a song called "Space Dementia" by my newest muses (a group called Muse, go figure), and the fact that I wouldn't really be happy if I didn't. Besides, there _is_ still much I have to put on the plate. And I can think of a million different ways I could still spread the drama. I don't know if I'll be starting it immediately. I need time to sort out some things, first.

Once again, thanks for all your encouragement and especially your patience. This story really just started on whim, the fact that my SO worked EARLY in the mornings, and an interesting word, "Odalisque." I wrote down some things I wanted to happen in the story, but it never really had set path. Some did happen. Some didn't. Over time, your reviews and emails sort of influenced how this all would go, and of course, sometimes, the muses decided they'd dictate how this would go. Thanks again. :)


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